


Because I Could Not Stop For Death

by Writegirl



Series: Fucked Up Love Songs [6]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Friendship, Phil Coulson's Cellist, Phil Coulson's Trading Card Collection, Post-Avengers, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Avengers, Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:26:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere, in the darkest corner in the back of her mind, she knew this was how it would end.</p><p>WARNING: This is the sad storyline for my verse. Please be aware.</p><p> <i>  Coulson woke covered in sweat.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here is the first installment of the SAD universe. I say again, this storyline is the SAD, Not-A-Fix-It, bring tissues because feels universe. If you don't want to read the bad stuff, continue on to With Up So Floating Many Bells Down.
> 
> Okay, still with me?
> 
> Let's begin at the end.

       When Coulson stopped breathing so did Fury.

       Twenty years of working with a man gave you a certain connection. A rhythm that made you work in synch to an extent most people never experienced. A few of his agents who didn’t value their lives likened it to a couple, married so long that neither had secrets from the other. Phil Coulson knew what he wanted before he wanted it, knew how to make whatever twisted black-ops dreams he concocted a reality. He knew when to give Phil his head, let him run an op his way even if that way gave the WSC fits and threatened the sovereignty of several nations. The man also did what most people would have considered impossible: he made Fury his friend. It was a friendship that Nick returned.

       “Sir.”

       He didn’t need to be told anything else, just moved aside as the EMTs did their work. Phil’s suit, deceptively plain and very expensive, was slit at the site of the wound, the hole in his chest (not bleeding anymore, just a ragged edged _thing_ ) assessed by one as another opened a line and tried to start a plasma infusion. He stood silent for tense minutes as the three worked, waiting for something, some sign that the man he knew was still there.

       It took eleven minutes for the EMTs to call it. 

       After that cleanup was simple. The EMTs went off to work on another victim of the attack while two others came to take away the body. The clatter of something hitting the floor was almost swallowed by the sound of the gurney locking into place. Once the EMTs were clear Fury squatted down.

       The cell phone wasn’t one he recognized, not SHIELD issue. A black Samsung, screen streaked with blood. Fury picked it up and swiped a thumb across to reveal a passcode screen. He thought for a moment and typed in a series of numbers. _7*4*1920*3*15*1943_ , the two birthdays of Captain America. One was known by just about any school kid who developed an interest in the first real superhero. The second was only known by those who waded through the old SSR files in storage.

       The phone opened onto a text conversation, and Nick hung his head. _Stay safe!!!!_ From SexyD was the last received message.

       Phil never got a chance to send his.

       Fury turned off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. There was shit that needed doing, and he was the one to do it. With his dying breath Phil gave him the key to getting the Initiative off the ground.

        _This was never gonna work, if they didn’t have something to…_

       If they didn’t have something for them to rally behind.

* * *

       Darcy was climbing the walls.

       Literally. She climbed onto the back wall of her mother’s property, perched her back against the cool damp stone, and refused to come down until her phone needed charging or until she couldn’t stay awake any longer. The spot, where the low fence of their back wall met the higher one of the Fullers, was always her favorite growing up. The citrus trees her mother planted kept the spot hidden from the house, and the oversized ledge was strangely comfortable once she found the right position. Growing up it was where she went when things got to be too much. When she needed somewhere to think about something other than what was happening in her house. The little lean-too she made in high school either fell on its own or was removed, but that didn’t matter. When it decided to rain she grabbed a golf umbrella and a trash bag and set up shop.

       Sleep, when it came, was no relief. When Darcy did finally nod off every sound woke her, she was so afraid of missing a call or text. It was four days since her last text or call from Phil. Four days. She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t calm down. When she tried to sleep all she could do was imagine what happened. Maybe he was hurt, maybe he lost his phone. Maybe his hands were terribly burned and so wrapped in bandages that he couldn’t work a phone, and was feeling like an utter dick because he couldn’t reassure her that he was okay.

       Maybe she was lying to herself.

       On day three Ginger talked her down with her favorite mug full of black currant tea and three triple-honey scones straight from the oven. Darcy’s stomach chose to remind her that yes, she needed food to survive, and it was tired of listening to whatever problems her head and heart was suffering from.

       “Still nothing?” Ginger asked when half the tea and two scones were gone.

       Darcy shook her head.

       Ginger gave her a hug, one that smelled of myrrh and currants. “The news said people are still being found alive, hon. I’m sure he’s all right.”

       “I’m not.” Just saying it made hot, heavy tears flood her eyes. And then there was Clint. She tried calling the last number he gave her, but after fifteen rings it clicked off. She tried twice a day, every day, since Phil told her he wasn’t sure if their friend made it out. She thought back to the rows of body bags the news showed and wondered which one of them was him. 

       At least she didn’t have to worry about Jane. She got a frantic phone call from Jane about a sustained energy signature similar to the Bifrost that was at the same time like nothing she’d ever seen, and how SHIELD was refusing to let her get to New York to study it closer despite the fact that the aliens appeared to be dead. From what Darcy knew no one was allowed on Manhattan, not even the people who lived there. The astrophysicist was practically under house arrest, even though they _knew_ she would want to see Thor. The first time she asked about Phil Darcy dropped her phone in the sink. She didn’t have the heart to tell her, didn’t want to theorize on the odds in case she jinxed something.

       “You need a shower,” her aunt said point blank once she let her go. “You smell like old concrete and wood.”

       Darcy made a noise in the back of her throat, something that could have translated into I-like-it-leave-me-alone-I-don’t-mention-when-you- smell.

       “Diane’s worried about you,” her aunt tossed her head to the house. Darcy followed her gaze to the second story, where one of the blinds twitched back into place.

       “She hasn’t said anything.”

       “Exactly.” The older woman’s smile was small and smug. “Usually she’d be yelling at you to get over it by now. I think we’re making progress.” Ginger watched as she ate the last scone and finished her tea before getting up and getting more. When Darcy tried to turn the mug down her aunt shrugged and set it on the patio table. 

       “You’ll need it in about forty five minutes,” she said as she opened the sliding glass door. “One of those was double strength.”

       Darcy looked down at her plate, then at her aunt, tired eyes wide. “You tricked me.”

       “You should take a shower and get in bed,” Ginger said calmly. She cocked her head. “I changed your sheets, too.”

       The brunette folded her arms.

       The older woman shrugged. “Fine. Get stuck out there if you want. When one of the raccoons comes down and tries to eat your face, don’t blame me.”

       Thirty minutes later Darcy carried her cold tea inside and headed to her room to grab her shower basket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It all boiled down to him taking leave in the middle of an international, interstellar shit storm to fly to Portland, all the while daring anyone to say a damn thing about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the massive wait between chapters. Internet issues and all that. So, here's the next piece. Hope you enjoy.

        Loki examined the ceiling of his new cell. SHIELD must fear the green beast terribly to have made so many, he mused with a wince. Not that he blamed them after being on the wrong end of its rage. Mindless or not, the creature was raw power. Only once before had something done this to him: shown him how weak he was, how helpless in its grasp. It was only luck that made the giant lose interest in him so quickly, before it could do more permanent damage. He imagined even Thor would be unable to pry him free of its clutches.

        Over a day passed since his defeat at the hands of the humans by his reckoning, though there were no devices to let him know. A day spent half-in-half-out of consciousness as his wounds healed themselves. Even the easiest of spells was near impossible for him to manage; so much of his energy went into knitting bones and sinews. They were denying him food, most likely at Thor’s insistence. It would slow down his ability to heal, but not halt it entirely. A few more hours, two days at most, and he would be able to teleport out of his prison.

        After a cursory examination to determine that he would, in fact, live, the humans left him alone. Threw him into this cell, so much like his previous one, and ignored him. There was nothing he had that they needed. The Tesseract, the device that could bridge worlds, whatever they could glean from the Chitauri’s weaponry, all of it was theirs for the taking. He had nothing. Nothing to bargain for his life with.

        Nothing to give Thanos.

        The outer doors to his prison opened with a hiss and the tall man, Fury, strode in with Thor on his heels. The thunderer looked pensive, eyes pinched. Loki hoped he wasn’t thinking. Odin knew how much damage he could do to himself if he tried that.

        “Your brother tells us it will take time before a device is made that will take you back to Asgard. We have Stark working on it.”

        He didn’t respond, focused instead on breathing steadily. The pain would fade, in time. Hopefully before they discovered how to change the exit vector of the device.

        “Whatever you did to Selvig, he’s spent the last twelve hours working, sketching in a notebook; equations and designs that have our top scientists scratching their heads.” The dark man tilted his head. “How much of it is real?”

        “All of it,” he rasped, and let them think of that what they will. Whatever information the man was able to retain from the Tesseract would be of no help to them, not when Thanos learned of his failure. He would die, and Midgard would burn, if for nothing more than being a minor hindrance to the Eternal’s plans. Perhaps they would be lucky, and one of Selvig’s revelations would destroy the planet before Thanos got there.

        “Good. Because this was the first thing he made.”

        Loki turned his head to see what the man held, and fought down a scream. The devices were a different color, the metal thick and inelegant, but he knew well what they were for. He would be powerless, truly powerless, and for a moment he was no longer in his glass cage. He was on a barren rock, face down as strips of flesh were peeled from his back.

        _You think you know pain?_

        He must have given himself away somehow, because the speculation in the man’s face turned to outright joy. “Thor, if you will?”

        It took seconds for the thick door of his cell to open, seconds where he tried to stand, to defend himself, but there was nothing he could do. Not when Thor pressed him into the thin cot, when the shackles were secured on his wrists. He could feel the familiar torrent of his magic deaden to a trickle, felt the pain of his wounds double. He gasped, eyes closed against the onslaught.

        “Dr. Selvig did his work well,” Thor remarked, the traitor. “Loki will be unable to escape using magic.”

        “Good.”

        Loki opened his eyes to see Thor and the human watching him. At least his so-called brother had the decency to look uncomfortable at his latest humiliation. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were still Aesir pale. The dampeners did not destroy his glamour. He would kill them for this, starting with Selvig. He would show the human what he learned at Thanos’ hands, would make them beg for death before the end. He smiled then, imagined how the human before him would look without his remaining eye, his face devoid of skin. 

        Thor’s expression darkened even further.

* * *

        Nick Fury was used to doing what he wanted when he wanted. That wasn’t to say that he killed people indiscriminately (when he did have to kill, he was very discerning of his targets), or that he kicked the hell out of genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropists (and after what happened on the Helicarrier he truly wanted to). It meant that as the current director of SHIELD his time was his own purview. The only people he reported to were the shadowy figures of the World Security Council.

        Thinking about them, about what they almost did, about what they almost cost him, made his jaw tighten. Not for the first time he considered the possibility of simply eliminating them. Shadowed figures, voice-changing software or not, he knew each and every one of them. Knew who they were, where they slept, and what their weaknesses were. The whole ‘anonymous hierarchy’ was insulting, really. As if any spy worth his salt wouldn’t make his first priority knowing _exactly_ who he reported to. It was the WSC bleating in his ear that made his teeth grind painfully in the middle of the night. He was at the point where he handed to dubious honor of explaining the situation concerning a war criminal, a prince from a sovereign realm, and an object of immense power to Hill.

        Which all boiled down to him taking leave in the middle of an international, interstellar shit storm to fly to Portland, all the while daring anyone to say a damn thing about it.

        Everything was as under control as it could be given the circumstances. Loki was still in SHIELD custody while Selvig finished working on the device needed to take Thor and his brother back to Asgard. FEMA was doing its best to deal with the aftermath of the battle and the evacuation of Manhattan Island. Agents on the ground declared the weapons ninety-nine percent contained, and Sitwell was tracking down rumors about two idiots using suspicious technology on Long Island to rob banks. The largest actual problem that remained was dealing with the rapidly decomposing bodies of hundreds of aliens. He refused to think of the WSC and their attempts to get him to corner Thor into leaving Loki and the Tesseract behind as a problem. The Council already used up their dumbfuck decision quota for the month as far as he was concerned.

        Fury was silent as he stepped out of the SUV. Diane Lewis’ home was cheery in late spring. The flowers bloomed in bright whites and blues that complemented the green paint, the heavy foliage itself glossy with health. An old station wagon registered to Darcy Lewis was in front of the home. He strode up the slanted drive to the porch, rang the bell and waited.

        The woman who answered the door wasn’t Lewis, rather a short blonde woman who looked how he felt. “Can I help you?” Her voice was rough.

        “I’m looking for Darcy Lewis,” he said simply.

        The woman gave him a once over that would make junior agents cry. “Why?”

        “I’m afraid that’s between-”

        “Mom? Who’s at the door?”

        Diane Lewis moved out of the way, leaving the door partially cracked. “It’s for you.”

        Nick only saw Darcy Lewis in person once. At the time she was on her ass, having just fallen after trying to beat a hasty retreat; cheeks red with embarrassment, blue eyes half-curious, half-terrified. She managed to throw out a question that made his good eye twitch, and then spent the rest of the meeting with her boss trying not to look like she was placing internal bets on who would win a wrestling match between them. In those brief minutes he could see why Phil was so taken with her.

        There was nothing of that woman in the person who greeted him.

        Darcy went white when she saw him, the little color she had draining away as her knees wobbled. He reached to grab her before she fainted, but she locked her knees, one hand going to the jamb, the other catching on the door with a white-knuckled grip. She took two deep breaths. “Director.”

        “Ms. Lewis.”

        She looked past him, eyes dull and listless. “I guess this isn’t a social call.” The words were flat and lacked any humor.

        “I’m afraid not.”

        Darcy walked away, leaving the door to swing open in her absence. He followed her through the house, past a living room and the blonde from before, along with another blonde who started to ask a question that Darcy ignored. She opened a sliding door onto the back patio and gestured for him to go ahead of her. She closed the door softly and leaned against it, arms folded. 

        She spoke before he could. “Phil died, didn’t he?”

        The question was soft and surprisingly matter-of-fact. “He was attacked from behind while trying to secure a prisoner.” 

        Darcy’s head tilted forward. “Did he get away?”

        Fury didn’t answer. He pulled out Phil’s Samsung. “Do you recognize this?”

        For a moment he thought she wouldn’t take the phone, but one arm unfolded and he dropped the device onto her palm. She flicked the phone on, stared at it, and then began typing.

        “The code is-”

        “I know the code.” She humphed. “And that so doesn’t sound like something from Pirates of the Caribbean.” 

        Nick walked away, eye on the manicured backyard. “You should look at his text messages.”

        The brunette stared at the phone for over a minute without saying anything after flipping through it, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth. A blush spread its way through her parlor, only to slowly fade. He gave her what privacy he could, focusing his attention on counting the number of flowers on a particularly healthy rose bush.

        “I never told him.”

        He turned around. Darcy was still staring at the phone, and for a moment he doubted she’d spoken at all until she continued. “I kept trying to type it, let him know. I erased it every time.” She sniffed loudly. “What kind of person does that?” Her hands clutched the phone hard, her fingertips bloodless.

        “He knew.”

        The woman slipped the phone into her pocket and wrapped her arms around herself. It looked like she was trying to keep herself from flying apart. “What about Clint?”

        _That_ brought him up short. “Excuse me?”

        “Clint Barton. Is he…” She shook herself. “Did…”

        “Agent Barton is currently on indefinite medical leave,” he explained slowly. “He sustained no long-term physical damage from what happened.”

        She jumped on the detail. “Physical damage.” 

        “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you about Barton, Ms. Lewis.” He thought about asking for the phone back, but decided against it. He had no desire for the woman to try and claw his other eye out. Something about the careful control she held made him think it a real possibility.

        “Did Merlin make it out?”

        He blinked. “Merlin?”

        “Tabby cat, cream fur, blue eyes. Ph…Phil said he would take care of him when I went back home.”

        Nick had his phone out before she finished speaking. The line picked up on the first ring. “Sir?”

        “Get Asherton to look into Agent Coulson’s belongings. Anything that was shipped from New Mexico. She’s looking for a tabby named Merlin.” Knowing Phil the animal was in a boarding house somewhere between New Mexico and New York. If push came to shove, he could always ask Stark to hunt the animal down. 

        If Hill was surprised or annoyed that he called her and ordered a rundown for a cat it didn’t color her voice. “I’ll make sure you’re notified once the animal is found.”

        He hung up. “We’ll find your cat.”

        Darcy nodded. 

        After that, there was nothing else to say. She looked incredibly young; barefoot in rainbow stripped pajama bottoms and Wonder Woman t-shirt, eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses. Too young for Phil.

        “When’s the funeral?”

        Her voice was steady, as if she were asking after the weather, and his perception of her changed. “I’ll make sure you’re notified.”

        She walked him to the front door, past the two women who were conspicuously sitting on the couch in silence with her arms still wrapped around her middle, jaw set. He was halfway down the walk when she spoke again.

        “Thank you for coming in person, Director.”

        “I owed him that much.” He had another flight to catch in an hour, one to Germany and what was left of Phil’s family.

  

        Darcy watched the SHIELD SUV drive away and wondered why they even tried. Nothing said non-descript like a giant, black SUV with blacked out windows and government plates. When the car disappeared around the corner she walked back inside.

        “Darcy, honey?”

        Her aunt and mother were both staring at her, barely sitting on the couch they were so close to the edge. For a moment she imaged two well trained poodles waiting eagerly for a command. “He’s dead.” She couldn’t say Phil, it didn’t feel right.

        Ginger’s face fell. “Oh, baby-“

        Her mother didn’t say anything.

        “I’m gonna lay down.” It was the only thing she could think of. She wanted to run down the street screaming but the sun was shining, and she didn’t want to feel it on her skin. He was dead and the sun was shining and the weather was warm. It wasn’t right. It should be raining, the wind should be howling. There should be thunder and lighting and darkness. Instead it was a bright, sunny day.

        Behind her someone spoke, but she ignored it. When Darcy got to her room she closed the door and turned the lock blurry eyes searching. The lock was a new acquisition, because if her mother barged in her room again after nothing but two brief knocks she couldn’t hold herself responsible for her reaction. She stumbled to her dresser and dug around until she pulled out Phil’s old Captain America t-shirt. She never wore it, and when she put it to her face she could smell him: soap and detergent and a hint of Brut and _Phil._

        Darcy sank to the floor and pulled the phone out of her pocket.

        _Cdn’t stay safe. Love yo_

        She pressed her knees into her chest, the shirt and phone against her heart, and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> For time purposes I've made it so Thor and Loki have to spend a few days on Earth before heading back to Asgard. This is due to the fact that Thor had no device on him for the Tesseract to power when he first appears, meaning one had to be built. I imagine Odin gave him instructions before sending him back to Earth.
> 
> The other reason is because I have been studying (if you can call it that) what would happen in the case of an alient invasion (thank you NatGeo). One thing my sources seem to agree on is the need for the immediate area around the invasion to be completely quarantined for health purposes. Since their are people in the background at the end, it means that the quarantine was lifted and people were back in Manhattan.
> 
>    
> Once again, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long time between posts. Life is being...well... _life_. But, new chapter!!!!

        It was dark.

        It wasn’t a bad first thought, but he didn’t normally wake in the dark. There should be light from his computer, or cell phone, or television. The orange hue of a streetlight or the brilliant pale blue of security floods, never complete and utter darkness. The darkness wasn’t disorienting, however. It was a soothing blanket that made him feel safe. Before he could analyze that too much be began to move forward. He didn’t walk, because he didn’t move his legs. He couldn’t _feel_ his legs, but he was moving. 

        The darkness lifted abruptly, vanishing like it never was, and he found himself in a large room. The walls appeared to be smooth, flat metal; so dark they absorbed the light of the clear globes that lined them. There were intricate patterns in the walls; swirls and curving lines that at times solidified into fantastical figures and beasts before meandering into chaos again.

        “You are an unusual visitor to my halls, Phillip Coulson.”

        The voice, fathoms deep and hard as steel, seemed to come from all sides. He spun in a circle but could see no one. There were only the walls, the globes and eerie silence. 

        The voice spoke again. “Mortals do not normally find themselves here in these times. There are other judges for your faith.” The stereo quality of the voice faded until it came from behind him.

        He turned. One end of the once empty hall was filled with a large pale grey throne that seemed to grow out of the floor. The throne was occupied by a woman, casually lounging in its depths. Her gown, sheer in places to the point of translucence, was draped artfully over her; thin enough for him to see the outline of her nipples and the curve of her body, impossibly pale against the material of the throne. Her features were hidden by a mask and headpiece that arched above her head in jagged designs, leaving all but her eyes and mouth obscured.

        It took him no time to figure out where he was. Once SHIELD discovered that Thor was real they made it a priority to learn all they could of Norse mythology. Judging from his last memories and the woman before him, there was only one person he could be speaking with. “Hel.”

        A smile curved her blood-red lips. “Most mortals from your time do not know my name.”

        What was left of his stomach dropped painfully. He was speaking to Hel, goddess of the underworld. That didn’t speak well to his chances of survival. “I know your family,” he said. “Certain members of it.”

        “If you did not, you would have never found my halls.” She focused on a spot high on his chest. “My father is responsible for your death.”

        Pain lanced through him; a burning line of fire that vanished just as swiftly as it came. 

        “You faced an Asgardian, the god of fire, of chaos, alone. It takes bravery and a warrior’s spirit to do such.” She gestured grandly. “Valhalla opens its doors to you, Phillip Coulson. Go to your reward.”

        “Thank you, but I have to get back to Earth.” There was an invasion going on. Fury needed him, the Avengers needed him. _Darcy_ needed him. He’d only just allowed himself to think of being with her again. After he spoke with Stark on the way to the helicarrier he knew it, and he had no desire to argue with him. Phil knew what it meant with the inventor wore that sharp, squinty expression. It meant he was going to move heaven and earth to make something happen. Phil never thought it would be leveled at him. “I’m needed.”

        Her smile turned indulgent. “Do you think to be the first to make such a claim, Philip Coulson? Many and more soldiers have stood before me, and to each I have given the same message. There is no going back, not for you. Your fate is there.” She nodded behind him, and he wondered how her headpiece managed to stay on. The woman must have neck muscles of steel.

        He glanced behind him. Where there was once flat, dark wall there were now golden double doors flanked by two torches, their high arches disappearing into the gloom of the ceiling. Phil turned back to the throne, only to find it gone once again with nothing to indicate it was ever there. There were no other visible exists from the room, and the longer he stood the stronger the urge to go to those doors grew. Finally he stopped fighting and walked forward. As he approached the doors swung wide and the hall was flooded with bright light and sound. 

        The place the doors lead to was as different from the somber hall as could be imagined. There was music and shouting, laughter and the smell of food. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men and women crowded large tables laden with food and drink. Thin, golden wisps moved among them, removing and replacing plates as they went, refilling tankards with liquid from golden ewers. Coulson just stared. He’d died, and managed to wind up in Valhalla. Somewhere, maybe here, his ancestors were very, _very_ proud.

        A large hand clamped on his shoulder, firm and friendly as a large dark haired man beamed down at him. The stranger wore no armor, only a woven tunic and trousers finished by high boots. “Welcome!”

        In short order Phil was swept into conversation, plied with food and drink. He found himself laughing at a thousand different tales. The sense that there was something important, something _missing_ , faded. 

* * *

        Natasha didn’t feel right.

        Without Coulson there was something off about her existence. So much of who she was now, who she _wanted_ to be, came from her former handler. He was the one to reach her when SHIELD finally had her cornered in Shanghai. The one to teach her that non-lethal methods of dealing with hostiles were just as effective (and in special cases, just as final) as lethal ones; the first to approach her, not with fear or loathing, but with respect. He was her first true friend, as far as she was able to have one. She was glad for his guidance, his tempering.

        It was the only thing keeping Loki alive.

        The Asgardian still wore heavy leather trousers, though the leather coat and boots were removed. Without the bulky additions he was more slender. Not skinny, but with the sleek muscle of a swimmer. Thor’s strength was evident in the thickness of his arms while Loki’s was surprising. If she hadn’t seen the footage herself she would never have imagined him capable of kicking a two hundred pound man hard enough to lift him ten feet off the ground and shatter his sternum besides.

        Once Thor confirmed that Selvig’s manacles would hold his brother SHIELD’s tactic changed from menacing the criminal to ignoring him. No matter what the WSC said she knew Fury wouldn’t hand him over. Not if he wanted to stay in Thor’s good graces and develop diplomatic ties to Asgard. That Thor also planned on taking the Tesseract with him was something she knew he was keeping under wraps as well. There was no way the power-obsessed World Security Council would let the artifact out of their hands, even if it meant drawing the attention of more advanced and most likely hostile aliens. If someone else wanted it then it was valuable, and fools always wanted what they could not possibly hope to control.

        Natasha mused on all this as she stood near the door to Loki’s cell. The god was unaware of her presence, choosing instead to stare blankly at the ceiling. He was still Asgardian (strength ten times that of an average human, denser bone and muscles, extraordinary agility), but without his magic he was more manageable. She had few illusions as to her own abilities, had a closer gauge on them than SHIELD. She was sure that with some preparation she could kill him. It would mean most likely spending the rest of her life running from Thor, but she had experience hiding from people who wanted to find her. She knew a man, a very dangerous man, who owed her enough of a favor to fashion her something that would keep her out of Heimdal’s sight. 

        “The humans should consider putting a bell on you.”

        She locked away her thoughts of Phil, of the many ways she wanted to experiment with Asgardian pain tolerances and healing abilities, before glancing at her watch.“It took you a full minute that time.”

        Loki didn’t move from his prone position. “I have more pressing matters to attend to than the whereabouts of one of Thor’s cronies.”

        The words were dismissive but lacked the manic edge from before. Either Hulk managed to knock sanity back into the Asgardian or he was building up to an impressive display of self-importance. She sat in the single chair in front of his cage, legs crossed, foot swinging lazily. “From quim to crony,” she drawled. “Your assessment of me has changed.”

        His eyes slid to the side. “Barton’s information was sorely lacking in regards to you. He failed to mention how good a liar you are.”

        Natasha smiled, one that was more teeth than lips. “High praise, coming from the God of Lies.”

        “Mischief,” he corrected. “Chaos. Occasionally fire, but not lies. There are others in Asgard far more suited to that title.” His words grew bitter at the end.

_He’s adopted,_ Thor’s words from the initial briefing. “Thor believes you were working for someone else. Strange, for a king to take orders.”

        He sat up slowly, and she catalogued his movements. There was stiffness there that could have been feigned, though the crinkling of the skin around his eyes told of deep pain. “And the reason for your visit is revealed.”

        “I’m not here to play with you, Loki.” Selvig and Stark said the device to return Thor and his brother to Asgard would be ready within the next forty-eight hours. “The Director wants answers, answers that I hope you’ll give freely.” Though it would be far less fun.

        He smiled wide. “And where would be the fun in that?”


	4. Chapter 4

“I _demand_ to see Thor!”

The SHIELD agent just stared at her. “My orders are to keep you here until Director Fury says otherwise, Ma’am.”

Jane growled and fought the urge to tackle the man. He was heavier than her, sure, but force was mass multiplied by acceleration. She could take him if she managed a running start. At the least she could zip past him into the hallway. She was on Culver’s intramural track team, and his shoes looked like they weren’t made for anything faster than stalking.

“I don’t believe this,” she hissed, running a hand through her hair. 

It took over a week to get back to the states. It started with forty-eight hours of actually being lied to by her ‘assistants’: three of which turned out to be SHIELD agents there specifically to serve as her ‘protection’. When the internet access failed she brushed it off. The observatory was very remote, and things broke down. The next day when her mom missed her biweekly check in and she discovered her phone wasn’t receiving any calls _period_ she started paying closer attention to what was happening around her.

It wasn’t until she bribed a non-SHIELD coworker into smuggling in printouts from the web that Jane knew what the hell was going on. Another day of demanding that her internet and phone access be restored or she would _walk_ to the nearest internet café. When the agents scoffed she threw on her heaviest clothes, filled a pack with snacks and water, and headed for the exit. A hushed conversation later and she was frantically calling everyone back home to make sure they were safe while her assistants (now jailers) informed her that SHIELD was handling the situation. 

It was only two days ago that they told her Erik was alive and in observation (observation for _what_ no one would explain). The rest of the time was spent under house arrest in Tromso, followed by a painfully slow return to the states in which SHIELD thought it would be best for her to be flown across Eurasia and into Los Angeles before finally getting her to New York.

And then stonewalling her at a mobile headquarters on Long Island.

Which was how she found herself in a spacious, well-decorated office complete with minibar and muffin basket, staring down Goon #4 with her only instructions being ‘wait until Fury shows up’.

Fuck. That. Shit.

She tried another track. “Even if the Director wanted you to keep me here, surely he realizes that the longer it takes for me to examine the phenomenon the harder the data will be to correct. I know you have labs here that can accommodate at least some of what I need. The radiation signature has already faded! There’s no telling what-”

“Jane?”

The voice was hoarse.

“Erik!”She darted past her guard (she was small, but quick) and into the hallway.

And stopped dead.

Erik looked like… she didn’t know what he looked like. She only saw him less that put together once: the morning after he and Thor decided to have a drinking contest and the god had to pour him into her trailer. Erik Selvig hung over, skin pale and eyes red was something she never imagined seeing.

This… this was so much worse.

Erik wasn’t just pale, he was grey; his eyes bloodshot with heavy bags that meant he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes hung on his frame and over a week’s worth of stubble obscured his jaw. Jane approached him as slowly as she would an unstable reactor. “Erik?”

He smiled, but it was a small, sickly thing. “Dr. Foster.”

She reached out to hug him and Erik, the man who practically raised her since her father died, the man who always stood by her, backed away a step. Her hands balled into fists. “What happened?”

Goon #4 put a hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Foster, I need you-“

She shrugged the hand off, eyes focused on her friend. “Erik, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, Jane.” His smile was too wide to be genuine, his eyes dull. “Just tired.”

She worked her mouth for a moment. “Fine? You are obviously not fine. What have they been doing to you?”

The hand was back, more insistent and Jane had enough. She ducked, leaving the man holding nothing but her jacket, grabbed his hand, and _twisted_. She never actually planned on using the move, but like Darcy said it would it worked. Goon #4, with at least four inches on her, folded forward and cursed, his arms twisted behind him.

“Dr. Foster, why are you manhandling one of my agents?”

Jane released the man guiltily and charged towards Fury. “I’m manhandling one of your agents because I have literally been flown all over the world to keep me away from New York,” _from Thor,_ she added mentally. “I have been lied to, held against my will, shipped off to the ass-end of the planet-”

The director’s eyes flickered to his agent as she spoke, and the man walked off stiffly. “I’m afraid that was for your own benefit, Dr. Foster,” Fury interrupted. “We were unsure of the nature of the threat and needed you out of harm’s way.” 

“But-”

“Jane?”

It was the second time someone said her name in a voice she feared she’d never hear again. Behind the director, dressed in plainclothes with Mjolnir tied to his belt was Thor. He was smiling, not the broad smile she remembered, but full of the same happiness.

His eyes went from her to Erik, and the smile slipped to something softer, pained. “Are you well today, Erik?”

Erik hadn’t moved during the entire exchange. He flinched at his name, eyes searching. “Fine…fine…” he started down the hallway and she followed after him.

“Erik!”

“Perhaps it would be better to let him go, Jane,” Thor said softly. “I’m afraid the doctor still is not himself.”

“Not him…” she looked between Thor and Fury. “What is going on?”

* * *

Darcy spent the two weeks after Fury’s visit in a haze nothing could penetrate, not even her mother. Most of that time was spent in her room; staring at the walls, going through her photo album, and berating herself with levels of self loathing she hadn’t thought possible since high school. The videos she took of them she left alone. Hearing his voice, seeing him smiling and alive was too much for her. Phil was gone, and thinking that made a dull ache settle somewhere behind her heart that refused to leave. Half the time she felt like she couldn’t breathe to the point where she found herself running through her ‘safe space’ exercises, something she hadn’t done in years. 

The first week she stayed in her room, content to remain as far from her mother and aunt as possible. After her announcement Ginger knocked on her door a few times, tried to get her to talk, but Darcy wasn’t in the mood for talking. After the second day, when she couldn’t avoid going to the bathroom any longer Darcy came out and saw a covered tray near her door containing soup in a mug and half a sandwich with a note _please, eat_ written in her aunts chunky script _._ She went to the bathroom and left the tray where it was. It was gone in the morning, replaced by another, which was replaced that night. The next day it was power bars and bottled water, and since she didn’t want Ginger to worry too much she took up hoarding them in her room, leaving an empty tray and what she hoped was a relieved aunt.

When she wasn’t lamenting lost love she was pissed the fuck off.

When she discovered someone used all her Best Foods, leaving her with only Miracle Whip to make the first sandwich she ate in days she didn’t take it well. In hindsight it could have been worse; a few broken dishes and a shattered jar of Miracle Whip weren’t exactly the end of the world. She ended up going to the store and buying more mayonnaise (both kinds, because unlike the mystery family member she wasn’t a complete ass), and some replacement dishes. At least she was alone when it happened, so no one got to see her having a hissy fit in the kitchen and the half-hour crying jag that followed. 

It was supposed to get better, that’s what all the grieving websites said, what she saw time and again on message boards. The getting better took time, but eventually the pain would fade. There were stories from people who lost sons, daughters, spouses of twenty years. Her relationship with Phil, one that hadn’t even lasted a year, didn’t even seem to qualify.

In the middle of the second week Jane called to tell her how sorry she was and Darcy felt… numb. The physicist reassured her that whatever she was feeling was completely normal, and that it took time to bounce back from losing someone. Jane’s father died of a heart attack when the scientist was fifteen, so she was about as expert on the subject as Darcy was going to get. “Find something to do,” she said. “Knitting, watching movies, stripping, just…find something. You’ll go crazy if you don’t.” After that the conversation was one sided to the point where Jane stopped talking and did the obligatory ‘Can you hear me?’ 

Darcy hung up.

* * *

Natasha eyed the carrier sitting at her feet. “From who?”

The UPS man shrugged. “Just sign ma’am.”

There were only a handful of people who knew about her apartment on Long Island. Since Clint was just getting out of confinement and Fury knew better it narrowed the list to the few people with the resources to track her down, none of whom would balk at using a cat carrier to exact revenge.

A meow sounded from the floor. “It’s alive.”

The man heaved a sigh and flipped through the screens on his pad. “The original sender is Happy Animal Boarding in Midland, Nebraska. That’s all I got. Cat’s name is Merlin.”

She snatched the pad and flicked expertly through the screens before signing with a flourish, all before the briefest ‘hey’ could come from the deliverer.

Natasha waited until the man was a good distance down the hall to reach down and grab the carrier. It was plain, dark blue plastic; the kind you would use to take an animal to the vet. She lifted the cage to her face.

Deep blue eyes stared back.

“Hey, Merlin.”

A pale paw reached through the door and swatted at her nose.

Natasha took out her phone and sent a text: _Cat’s in the bag. Call off the hounds._ Bad puns, but Hill needed more humor in her life. As she walked to her spare bedroom Shadow emerged from one of his hiding places and kept pace, trilling as they went. She shoved him aside when he tried to slip in the door before her, which earned her another trill of disappointment before he vanished.

Safely away from her cat she set the carrier down on the floor and opened the front. When she first freed Shadow into his new home he was out of the carrier in a flash, took up residence under her bed, and refused to move for over a day. Merlin was pressed against the back of the carrier, a pale ball of fur that let out plaintive meows.

She sat down to wait.

It took almost an hour, but the cat finally poked his head out and looked around, ears twitching. Over the next fifteen minutes he examined the room he was in, sniffing and occasionally pawing everything he could reach. He spent the most time on a window ledge looking out at the unfamiliar skyline, tail lashing. She spent the time ignoring him in favor of one of the books she kept in the nightstand. When she felt a small head butt against her shin she reached down and let him sniff her hand until he rubbed against it. She busied herself scratching behind the cat’s ears until her hands caught on his collar and set off a small jingle.

Merlin didn’t protest when she lifted him into her lap beyond a tightening of his muscles that released the minute his paws touched down. There, against his chest, was a round marble, clinking in front of his nametag. She unhooked the collar and examined the bauble. There was a slight indentation all the way around, bisecting it.

Phil did enjoy _Men in Black_ far more than any sane person would.

Natasha unclipped the name tag and exited the room. Five minutes, a screwdriver and a magnifying glass later, she managed to open the name tag and release a micro SD card.

* * *

“You promised us a device in less than a week, Dr. Selvig. It’s been three.” Fury kept his voice neutral and fairly calm, but there was something in it that made the scientist sitting at his desk flinch. Erik Selvig looked like a harsh word would trigger a stroke. The man wasn’t getting better, despite the best mental care SHIELD could muster. The reports on Barton were little better. “The World Security Council is getting restless.”

Selvig kept scribbling on a stray sheet of paper. “The device requires exact elements, forged together at the correct times.” Despite the hunch of his shoulders his explanation sounded dismissive, his attention focused elsewhere. “A miscalculation could result in Thor being sent to the wrong end of the galaxy, into another dimension, or cause catastrophic backlash.”

That last phrase peaked Fury’s interest. “Catastrophic backlash?”

Erik sighed and finally looked at him. The bags under his eyes were worse, and looking him full in the face his weight loss was more obvious. “A black hole the size of our sun centered wherever we triggered the device.” He folded his piece of paper away with fingers nearly black with graphite and ink. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Fury leaned back. That would give the WSC something to think about. Trying to keep them from claiming both Loki and the Tesseract were taking up entirely too much of his time. He needed both gone, and soon. There were only so many moves he had left. “I think you should take Dr. Paul’s advice about the sedatives.” He gave the man a more serious look. “Your assistants tell me you seldom sleep. Even Stark’s having trouble keeping up with you.”

Erik shrugged. “There’s too much to write down. It keeps slipping away.” His hands clenched on empty air. The man looked like he was about to cry. “I look at equations now that were so _simple_ with the Tesseract… and can’t make heads or tails of them. Soon…”

Fury headed him off. “I‘m afraid I can‘t give you access to the artifact, Dr. Selvig.” The man‘s shoulders slumped at the announcement. “Whatever secrets it contains, you’re not doing anyone a favor if you die from exhaustion discovering them. You have an hour to finish up your current work and then you’re going to medical. Dr. Paul will meet you there.”

The Erik Selvig of before would have balked at being treated like a child, maybe threatened to leave the project all together, since his expertise was not needed. The man was brilliant, and knew what he was worth. Selvig took the direct order as a dismissal and left the room without a backwards glance or a smart remark. Dr Foster peeked through the door before she followed him, perpetual frown in place.

_You should watch Selvig,_ the recording from Loki’s interrogation played through his mind. _The Tesseract had days to pour knowledge into his mind, anything he could ask it would return. Such knowledge could well drive the man insane if it doesn’t burn his mind to a cinder._ One of the few jewels Romanov was able to pry out of the Asgardian prisoner.

Fury ran a hand along his scalp. Romanov was doing an admirable job of interrogating Loki, though the agent was the first to tell him that anything the Asgardian said should be taken as fiction until proven otherwise. Once they made it clear they would keep Thor away in exchange for useful information he was forthcoming, though his definition of useful and SHIELD’s were seldom compatible. Knowing the political intrigues of Vanaheim could prove useful if they somehow managed to contact the planet, but at the moment was the last thing they needed to know.

“Director?”

Nick shook himself. “Yes, Agent Killian?”

“Cassandra Olander called. She’s ready for Agent Coulson’s body to be released to the funeral home. You asked to be informed.”

He ignored the tightening knot in his chest. “Make sure the paperwork goes through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm sorry about the month long wait between updates, hopefully I'll be able to keep to a faster schedule now.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)


	5. Chapter 5

        Flying with Thor was beyond exhilarating.

        After the first ten minutes though, it became something of a pain. It was all well and good for Thor to not get tired, but he was a god. Jane Foster was many things: runner, astrophysicist, professor, but she wasn’t a god and she really, _really_ needed to pee.

        When Thor landed and she discovered they were in _Nebraska_ she had a nerd flip out. They covered over 1200 miles in ten minutes. If they weren’t going to give her best friend the worst news of her life Jane might have jumped him in the middle of the AM/PM. As it was she let the insistent _toilet now_ song her bladder was singing block out anything else.

        “You are certain this facility has a privy?” Thor asked as he perused the drink selection along the back wall.

        “Yes! Just…stay here… I’ll be right out.” Jane rushed into the Ladies Room and peed faster than she ever had in her life. It still wasn’t fast enough.

        “Sir? Sir! You have to pay for those!”

        “I have no means of payment on my person, but I assure you SH-“

        “Thor!” Jane ran up to him, nearly knocking down a turnstile of Dingdongs. There was a growing pile of empty packages at his feet, and the clerk had his phone in hand in an obvious ‘I’m calling the police’ stance.

        “Jane!” Thor’s beard was sprinkled with cake crumbs, and while it looked adorable, the six bags at his feet weren’t. “These small confections are delicious! I shall have to bring a selection back to As-“

        “I’m sorry,” she rode over him with a ‘please shut up’ glance. It must have worked, because he settled for finishing off a moonpie. She pulled out her wallet. “He’s… special…” she gave the teen her most honest face. “How much do I owe you?”

        The kid looked over the damage and back to them. “Fifty.”

        “Fif-“ Jane growled. Thor _so_ owed her. “Fine.” She dug out five tens.

  

        When Jane and Thor showed up on her doorstep Darcy had to fight the urge to slam the door in their faces. She ended up standing there, eyes wide, and not saying a damn thing while her brain played catch up. The big guy she could understand; the man was the prince of an alien civilization that probably thought showing up out of the blue was the height of courtesy. Jane… not so much. After several seconds Thor’s small smile faded to a frown. “Are you well, Darcy?”

        “Just…kinda surprised.” She stepped out of the way and let them in. 

        “Darcy? Who is it?”

        “Friends, Aunt G,” she called back as she herded them into the living room. She saw her mom standing in the door to the kitchen before she turned around and vanished. Darcy turned back around to ask why she had an astrophysicist and a Norse god in her living room and found herself with an armful of Jane. At least her former boss didn’t start in on how sorry she was. So long as no one brought up Phil, she could make it through the visit without bawling. “Not being rude,” she said arms at her sides. “But why are you here?”

        Jane stepped back and glanced at Thor and wow, Jane never passed the buck. Thor’s expression was solemn. “The man of Fury wished us to escort you to your Arlington Cemetery for the Son of Coul’s funeral.”

        Oh. 

        Damn it.

        Thor went down on one knee in front of her, which would have probably looked cool with his armor, but wearing jeans and a T-shirt with Iron Man’s face on it was just strange. “I am truly sorry that a member of my family has caused you so much pain.” His voice was solemn. “I shall make sure it is the last time you are harmed by any of Asgard, Darcy Lewis. This I swear.”

        Darcy blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears that seemed ready to escape at any time. “A member of your family?” she asked slowly.

        Thor paled, eyes wide and guilty. “I was unaware you were not told. Your Philip was slain by my brother, Loki, before his attack on New York.”

        She swallowed. “Loki?” She and Jane went Norse mythology crazy in the months since Thor left. She knew who Loki was, or who all the myths said he was. She couldn’t remember one that labeled him an outright murdering bastard bent on world destruction. “Fury said he was killed trying to stop a prisoner from escaping. That was… your brother?”

        He stood. “To my shame.”

        Something told her she was focusing on the wrong thing here, but she couldn’t shake her mind free of it. Thor’s brother killed Phil. She felt like she just found out her life was an episode of the Twilight Zone, which translated into feeling hot, nauseous and having a sudden inexplicable craving for German chocolate cake.

        “Darcy?” Aunt Ginger said from behind her.

        “Ummm…” she blinked, trying to gather back thoughts that were scattered. Focus, she had to focus. “When is it? The funeral.”

        “Tuesday,” Jane filled in. “Director Fury wanted to make sure you had plenty of time.”

        “Okay.” Darcy half turned to the stairs. “I need to pack,” she said to no one in particular, and was walking before she could think how rude it was to leave her friends standing in the living room. She was halfway to her room when she decided that her aunt would make sure they had anything they needed. The few brain cells that were rubbing together were needed for something else.

        Upstairs she pulled out a carryon, started throwing things in and tried very hard not to think of anything other than what she needed for the trip. It was Sunday afternoon, so that meant she’d need clothes for three days plus something to wear to Phil’s funeral. The everyday wear was easy. Two pairs of jeans, three shirts, and three changes of underwear and socks later she was trying to think of what she would wear to the…thing. It wasn’t like she ever shopped with possible funerals in mind. She owned some black clothing, but most of it was designed for serious clubbing and/or job interviews. An image of herself wearing a black miniskirt, thigh-highs, five inch heels, and _that_ black shirt (the one that was saved from being completely sheer only by virtue of ambient light) made her laugh, and keep laughing until tears were streaming down her face.

        Darcy bit her lip and glanced at the closed bedroom door. No one heard her little freak out. Good. She took a deep breath and scrubbed her face roughly before heading to the landing. “Aunt G?” she called. “Can I borrow your toiletry bag?”

        “It’s under the sink, sweetie.”

        She busied herself carefully planning and packing shower stuff and makeup. Everything even slightly runny went into the plastic bags they’d taken to keeping in the bathroom for emergencies. The bag was big enough that everything fit, including brush, comb, hairspray, and a few handfuls of hair bobs. There, everything she’d need hair and body wise to get through the thing.

        When she got back to her room Diane was standing by her bed, staring down at her suitcase.

        “You didn’t pack anything for the funeral,” he mom said.

        Darcy brushed past her and tossed the toiletry bag onto the pile. “I wasn’t done.”

        Her mom gave her a hard look, then dumped the clothes onto the bed. “Everything will get wrinkled.” She began to carefully fold a pair of pants. “You aren’t planning to stay very long.”

        “Just until the thing is over.” Darcy pushed clothes around her in closet, isolating everything dark. “Don’t need a lot for three days.”

        “You should think about staying,” Diane said. “Take some time.”

        Darcy sighed. “Three days,” she repeated.

        “We don’t need you here.”

        The brisk words hit something in her chest hard, threatened to knock the wind out of her, and Darcy turned around. Her clothes were folded in neat stacks around the carryon. Diane turned and headed for her closet. “Ginger and I have everything under control.” She watched as her mom picked out clothes; black dress slacks, a knee-length skirt she hadn’t remembered she owned that looked like it fit, and two dress shirts (one black, one white). She carried the clothes back to the bed and began packing everything with calm precision. “Where are your black flats?”

        Darcy worked her mouth, then dug into the back of her closet. The flats were buried under sparkly platforms another pile of dirty clothes (she’s have to start doing laundry soon, apparently the piles were breeding), and a pair of hiking boots. When she emerged her bag was packed, complete with her lone pair of dress socks.

        “Jane’s your old boss, right?” Diane tucked the shoes into a pocket and zipped the carryon. “You should see if she wants you back.”

        Darcy smiled, and it wasn’t a nice one. It stretched her cheeks painfully. “You said you wanted me here, so I’m here.”

        “I want you happy.”

        Something painful coiled in Darcy’s stomach. “You made this big fuss about me coming back.” She said slowly. “Now I’m here, and you want to ship me off again.” Typical Diane.

        Her mother balled her hand into bony fists. They were making headway with her weight, but she was still painfully thin. “I want you to have a life, Darcy. One that doesn’t include making sure I’m not shitting blood.” She turned tired brown eyes to her daughter. “You were happy in New Mexico. You should go back.”

        “I can’t-“

        “Think about it.” Her mom’s face was flushed. “Just… think about it, Darcy.” The blonde didn’t wait for a response, just turned and left as abruptly as she appeared.

        When Darcy made her way back downstairs, bag and coat in hand, Thor and Jane were talking quietly in a corner to her aunt. Well, Jane was being quiet. Thor was using his normal inside voice.

        “The man of-“

        “Director Fury.”

        “Wishes me to return early, so that I can see my brother back to-“

        “Back home!”

        “Yes.” He looked puzzled at Jane’s insistence on finishing his sentences. “Back to our home. I’m afraid I will be unable to accompany the Ladies Jane and Darcy to the funeral.”

        Darcy set her bag down heavily on the bottom step. “What’s up?”

        “Your friend has to leave early,” Aunt Ginger filled in. “He says a car is waiting for you and Jane to take you to the airport.”

        Thor walked to her and took her hands in his. His hands were hot, incredibly so, and she imagined she could feel his pulse in her fingertips. “I am sorry I will be unable to see to the Son of Coul’s final rest, but Jane has assured me that all rites will be observed.” 

        “Thanks, Thor,” she finally managed to choke out. “Have a good trip.”

        Thor stood and engulfed her in an almost too-tight hug, then stepped back. “Is there a place where I may speak to Jane in private?”

        When Thor and Jane were outside on the back patio Aunt Ginger gave her a hug. “We’ll be here.”

        “Mom wants me to stay gone.”

        Her voice was flat when she said it, empty in a way that she would have killed to achieve on purpose. Ginger pulled back and brushed her hair away from her face. “She doesn’t want to get rid of you.”

        “Could have fooled me.”

        Ginger kissed her softly on the forehead and gave her another hug, one Darcy returned. “You’re welcome to come back any time you want, Dee Dee.”

        When Jane came back in alone Darcy fake hurried them out to a waiting SHIELD SUV, brushing off the fact that no, there wasn’t a six and a half foot tall blonde lurking in the backyard and no, she wasn’t explaining where he went. Diane didn’t make another appearance, which was just as well. Darcy didn’t have anything to say to her anyway.

* * *

        In Thor’s opinion Midgard’s skies were very crowded. Especially so around the larger cities where not only did he have to avoid planes and their faster cousins jets, but also smaller vehicles that Jane named helicopters. In Asgard there were very few blessed with the ability of flight. Even the most powerful of mages relied on other, faster means of travel. When he asked Loki why none of the mages took to the skies his brother likened it to trying to pick oneself up with your own arms. No matter how strong you were, it was impossible without an outside anchor of some sort.

        Traveling back to New York Thor was able to use his full speed, flying well above the cities or the paths of other Midgardian vehicles. Stars twinkled in the eternal twilight near the edge of Midgard’s atmosphere, unobstructed by the pollution its people generated. His first nights in New York were uneasy as he struggled to find any trace of Yggdrasil’s branches in the purple flushed sky. It was Natasha Romanov who explained that the city produced too much of its own light, and that drowned out the light of the stars. On Asgard the stars were so close, constants that never dimmed. 

        Thor angled down, slowing as he flew into New York. The streets and buildings were clear of Chitauri bodies but the destruction remained. In the past week the humans began erecting giant cranes to repair the damage. Some buildings were destroyed completely in explosions that made them fall like weak stacks of cards and left their neighbors unscathed. He marveled at their ability to control such destruction without the use of magic.

        He landed on the roof of the SHIELD building, where there was a suited man waiting for him. Sitwell, he thought. “Fury says it is time.”

        Sitwell nodded. “Dr. Selvig says the device is ready, and the Director would like you to leave as soon as possible.” Thor nodded and followed the man into the interior of the building. “The Director would also like to make sure you understand that we are releasing Loki to you with the understanding that he is to be kept away from Earth.”

        “My brother faces Asgardian justice.” It made something inside him ache thinking of what punishments their father could pass down. Imprisonment for a millennia would be the lightest sentence, simple execution the most likely. His only comfort lay in the fact that no prince of Asgard had ever been executed. Then again, no prince of Asgard stood accused of the same crimes as Loki. “Has it been determined where we will depart?”

        “Central Park. The Bethesda Terrace. Dr. Selvig believes it will be ideal.” 

        After that the long ride into the bowels of the building was silent. Loki was kept in the lowest cells, constantly watched in a cage like that on the Helicarrier that afforded him no privacy. When Thor tried to petition on his brother’s behalf Loki cursed him with the foulest of tongues. Thankfully none of the others could understand Nidavellir for the dwarves prided themselves on their insults.

        When the doors to their conveyance opened (“elevator”, Jane’s voice supplied), they were at the end of a long hallway lined with soldiers. Unlike the suited members of SHIELD these men wore armor and looked prepared for battle. Just outside the elevator Fury waited, cold and implacable as ever. Not for the first time Thor wondered how the Director would fare against Odin. He imagined they would be fast friends… if they did not kill each other beforehand.

        Sitwell remained in the elevator as Thor stepped forward. “Director.”

        “Thor.” 

        They walked in silence to the holding cell. “On behalf of Asgard, I would again apologize for this attack on the sovereignty of Midgard,” he began. Diplomacy was ever his brother’s strength, but he was learning in his absence. “Loki’s crimes against your world will not go unpunished.”

        “I’ll be sure to pass your assurances on to the World Security Council,” Fury’s voice was dry.

        They stopped in front of large metal doors. The Director made no move, but they opened with a mechanical hiss. When Loki was first brought to this new prison he was asked to strike the doors with all his might without the benefit of Mjolnir. The metal barely dented.

        “I’m more concerned about the Tesseract,” Fury continued once they cleared the doors. “I’ve assured the WSC that the only way to send you back is _with_ the device. I’m assuming it will be kept safe once it’s home.”

        Thor nodded. “The Tesseract will be returned to my father’s treasure vault, where it remained for millennia before being sent to Midgard.” It would most likely hold the place was once occupied by the Casket of Ancient Winters, guarded by another Destroyer. “There is no safer place for it in any of the Nine Realms save Helheim, and my niece would not have it there.”

        Fury’s shoulders stiffened as he spoke, and Thor did not elaborate. He tried in the weeks since coming to Migard to explain the truth behind the human’s myths of his people. None seemed willing to accept that the souls of his people did go to Valhalla, that Loki had a daughter that ruled the realm of the dead. Jane said it was because the proof of an afterlife, of a tangible soul, frightened many. 

        Outside the innermost doors to his brother’s cell Thor paused. “I would like to speak with him alone.”

        Fury examined him with his one eye in a manner disconcertingly like Odin before nodding. One of the soldiers detached himself from the wall and came forward with the dark mass of Loki’s clothing. On top sat the device their father gave him before he left on his quest: a gag that would fit his brother’s face perfectly and could not be removed save by the All-Father himself.

        Thor held Loki’s clothing in his hands, the gag on top as he approached his brother’s cell. Loki remained seated on the thin pallet with his elbows on his knees, not even bothering to look up as the door slid open. “So the time has come?” He asked with his eyes on the floor.

        Thor walked forward flanked by three guards, all with weapons held at the ready. “Brother.”

        He could see the pull of his brother’s face, knew he was smiling. Not one of the smiles he so missed, but something sharp and pained. “I am not your brother.”

        “We shall have to disagree.” He gestured to the jailer, and with a few switches the clear wall of Loki’s prison moved, opening a space big enough for him and the guards to come through before closing. They stayed against the walls, well out of Loki’s reach, weapons trained on the Asgardian. He nearly killed one of them in the first days of his captivity, and Thor made certain that SHIELD understood the reason the man still lived was simply because his brother grew weary of the standoff. It was something else troubling about him. Loki of old would not have used so brazen an attack, not when the chances of success were so small. His brother preferred to scheme, to talk his way free of trouble. He did not engage in futile endeavors. Thor tossed his clothes on the bunk beside him but kept the gag. 

        Loki looked up then, green eyes burning. “You were so quick to tell the others we weren’t brothers before, not by blood. Why now am I worthy of being your brother, Odinson?”

        Thor felt himself blush. “I should not have renounced you so.”

        Loki snarled at his words, no doubt displeased at his response, designed as it was to raise his ire. “It is simple truth.” Loki made the word a curse of its own. “We are not brothers, no matter what fictions your father told.”

        He came forward and used the key Selvig gave him to remove the chain that dangled between the restraints. Up close he could see that Loki’s wrists were red. Not raw as a human’s would have been after weeks of being chained, but beginning to show wear. 

        “Pleased with Selvig’s handiwork?”

        When Thor said nothing Loki dressed silently, hands made clumsy by the manacles. It was the first time he’d seen his brother in person since the Director began keeping him away in exchange for Loki’s knowledge. His brother was thin, almost gaunt. Despite the weeks that passed his wounds were not completely healed and he moved with the care of deep pain. There was something feral about him, something that had increased instead of waned with his captivity. Like a half-starved wolf scenting a bildgesnipe.

        When Loki was dressed he sat, hands on his knees. His eyes fell on the gag. “I will not wear that.”

        “The Director insists on it.”

        “The Director, or you?” He stood abruptly, and three weapons were leveled at him. “What secrets do you fear I’ll spill in my parting, Thor?” His expression turned thoughtful, but in his eyes was sharp calculation. “Tell me, will your Lady Jane be there?”

        “Brother…”

        “Does she know that while you court her, you are betrothed to another?”

        The words made him flush anew, with anger this time instead of embarrassment. It was a conversation he did not wish to have, not surrounded by SHIELD’s always ready ears. “I have never begrudged Sif her lovers, nor she mine.”

        Loki chuckled, a low, dark sound. “That was not made by human hands, anyway. Selvig may have gained some small knowledge from the Cube, but that stinks of high magic. A gift from Odin, then?” That razor sharp smile returned. “What secrets would the All-Father fear in the telling, I wonder?”

        “Loki…”

        He was standing in an instant, hands fisted at his sides. “Thor.”

        “I will hold you down and put it on myself, brother.”

        Loki was nearly vibrating with his rage, he took a step forward and stopped, eyes darting Thor into the room beyond. When his expression darkened Thor half-turned. Agent Romanov was outside the glass cell, arms folded and face impassive. The woman spent the most time with his brother, and from the video SHIELD showed him she was an adept interrogator, though Thor himself was certain Loki gave away little he did not wish known. Each time he slipped he would fix the woman with the look he wore now; one that promised far more terrible things than words if they ever met under different circumstances. Loki grimaced and lifted the mask gingerly, placing it over his mouth. His eyes never left the SHIELD agent’s, and when his hand lowered the gag remained in place.

        “Fury says transport is ready when you are,” she informed them, voice bored.

        Thor reattached the chain to his brother’s fetters and nodded to the man outside the cell who controlled the doors. “Come, brother.”

        Loki gave him one final, black look before walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry this story has been languishing, but I was having trouble getting it to go where I wanted. Hopefully the new direction will mean quicker updates


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!
> 
> Looks like my muse is working overtime, because two chapters in one week! The goal is to finish this before Thor 2 comes out. For everyone whose stuck around, thanks for being here. You guys are awesome!

        Flying back east courtesy of SHIELD was an adventure unto itself. The SUV dropped them off on the tarmac at Portland International and they were rushed onto a plane that looked like something straight out of GQ Magazine. Once they were boarded she didn’t know what to do. Jane gave her one of those I’m-trying-to-figure-you-out-but-trying-not-to-be-rude-about-it looks and pulled out a SHIELD issue laptop. Thankful her former boss didn’t want to talk Darcy pulled out her IPod.

        They were somewhere over Nevada when Darcy finally spoke. “Why’d Thor ditch you with me?”

        Jane stopped typing. “Thor said he didn’t want me anywhere near his brother.” Her face twisted. “He thinks he’s still dangerous, despite all the security they have him under.”

        “He’s a wizard or something, right?”

        “Erik made these magic-suppressing manacles.” She shrugged. “They emit this low-level…” Jane trailed off when Darcy began slowly crossing her eyes. “They keep him from doing magic.”

        There were invisible quote-fingers in the air around the word ‘magic’. “Still think it’s just science that can’t be explained?”

        “Yet,” Jane finished. “Thor let me run some tests on Mjolnir. It exudes this subtle energy signature unlike anything I’ve ever seen, but it has an effect on ions in the atmosphere. That proves it’s not magic, it’s just science.” She frowned. “Very, _very_ advanced science, but science.”

        “So how does he fly?”

        Jane’s scowl made her happier than she’d felt in weeks.

        Phil’s funeral would always be razor sharp to Darcy. After landing in Virginia she and Jane were taken not to a hotel, but a very nice apartment building that was so obviously a SHIELD front (at least to Darcy) that she wondered how it avoided being blown up by the bad guys. They were guarded day and night by black suited SHIELD personnel. Well, Jane was guarded, and since she was rooming with Jane she fell into the being guarded category, too. Jane kept her busy with tons of paperwork and organization. Science never slept, and with the data from whatever it was Jane was working on (Tess-something, since Jane cut herself off and started muttering about security clearances) contradicting everything Darcy saw from New Mexico damn near point for point, her boss was in geek heaven and willing to drag her along for the ride. 

        When Darcy woke up Tuesday morning she felt empty. A quick step outside onto the landing said it was muggy as all hell. Darcy never spent much time on the east coast, but she’d met people from places like New York and Rhode Island who said the only thing worse than the summer heat with the humidity that followed. She was a skeptic before, but now she was a believer. That meant the pants were out, so she dressed in her skirt (knee-length pleated) and the black dress shirt. Jane wore a suit Darcy’d never seen before, and at 9 AM they were escorted into the back of one of SHIELD’s ever-present SUVs and driven to Arlington National Cemetery.

        In the sixth grade Darcy went on a school field trip to Washington DC, and part of the week long adventure was a day trip to Arlington. She hadn’t known it was a cemetery until their guide told them that all the pale slabs on the hills marked places where soldiers were buried. She remembered sitting at the Tomb of the Unknowns, watching the Marine walk back and forth thinking how sad it was, being dead with no one to say who you were. Sitting in the back of the SUV watching the rolling hills pass by, all of them filled with pale markers, she started to panic. Phil’s death was becoming real. She could pretend he was still out there, somewhere, until the moment she saw the casket and watched them lower it into the ground. 

        When the SUV stopped and she stepped out of the car she almost fell her knees were so weak, and that gave her the strength to stand. She was Darcy Lewis. She tazered gods, wrangled mad scientists, and hacked into government databases to make false identities for said tazered gods. She wasn’t some shrinking violet who fell apart in the face of death. She was better than that.

        Phil was worth more than that.

        With her legs under her (and Jane pretending she wasn’t waiting with the SHIELD driver to swoop in) they started down a small path between the tombstones. The crowd up ahead was bigger than she thought it would be. Some were agents she recognized from Puente Antiguo, others she’d never seen before. Fury was unmistakable even in a black suit sans trench coat. The crowd parted somewhat and there was Cassie and her family, Cassie in her service uniform, Sarah and Peter both dressed in black and hanging on to their father’s hands for dear life. Darcy felt the sour stirring of guilt in her stomach. They hadn’t spoken since Cassie called her in tears about Phil nearly twelve hours after she found out herself. It didn’t take much to pretend she was just as shocked as the other woman.

        Sarah saw her first, and she barely had time to brace herself when sixty pounds of little girl barreled into her. Darcy hugged her out of reflex and some of that sour feeling went away. 

        “Darcy.”

        She looked up. Cassie was standing in front of her, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “Hi.”

        “Thanks for coming,” Phil’s sister said.

        Laughter bubbled in her chest, but died halfway up her throat. Where else would she be? “How long are you guys gonna be in town?” she asked instead.

        “Just till tomorrow,” Cassie ran a hand over Sarah’s brown hair and the girl went into her arms. “Family leave’s up on Wednesday, and I have to be back on base.” She gave the assembly a once over. “You’re not an agent, too, are you?”

        “No.” Darcy managed to squeak out. “Just made coffee.”

        Cassie nodded. “It’s funny. I never pegged Phil for clandestine. He was always a civilian to me.” 

        She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d first met Phil when he stole her Ipod and all of Jane’s research for SHIELD. He’d never been anything but an agent to her. 

        A ripple went through the crowd and Darcy turned. A hearse was winding its way down the hill towards them. 

        Despite her protests she found herself standing in the front row between Cassandra and Nick Fury. The Director said nothing, just gave her a look that was full of something dangerously close to approval. Jane was somewhere behind her, and when the pallbearers came forward with the flag draped casket between them Darcy’s hand reached out without her thinking and clenched around Fury’s hard enough that she felt her knuckles creak under the strain. He didn’t pull away or acknowledge it in any way.

        The service was short. Phil wasn’t a religious man, and the chaplain said only a few token words on loss. It was the Director who stood and gave a longer eulogy. Darcy kept her head down as he spoke about Phil: about his life before SHIELD, about how he served his country for over twenty years unflinchingly. There was no mention of SHIELD directly or how he died, only glowing words of his service, loyalty and sacrifice. 

        When the Director asked the family to stand Darcy found herself being dragged to her feet by Cassandra’s hand on her arm. The other woman gave her a comforting squeeze as the bugler started playing Taps and the pallbearers folded the flag with precise movements, tucking it into a triangle that was handed to Director Fury, who passed it to Cassie with his condolences. When the other woman swayed for an instant it was Darcy who was there to keep her upright, and it got her a watery smile of thanks.

        After the funeral there was a general milling about, and Darcy found herself on the edge of the crowd staring out at the cemetery. Arlington was beautiful. Phil was buried near a large maple, its leaves giving the headstone some shade. She thought he’d like it.

        “Darcy?”

        The voice was quiet, but she recognized it as she turned. “Clint?”

        He was standing behind her, flanked by a red-head that was strangely familiar. She hugged him hard, smashing her face into his chest. “You’re okay.”

        He shrugged. “Matter of opinion. Glad you made it.”

        She would have made it if she was bleeding out her eyes, but that wasn’t the point. “Fury said you were hurt… how are you?”

        Clint was wearing shades, and she had the feeling they were more so people couldn’t read him than because the sun was too bright. “Doing better,” he said finally. He turned to the red head then glanced further back at where a group was standing. “There’s some people who you should meet.”

        Under any other circumstances she would have been hysterical to meet Pepper Potts. Phil talked about the Stark Industries CEO from time to time, and before she headed back to Portland he mentioned maybe taking her on one of his trips so they could meet. She was all calm smiles when Clint introduced them, her handshake light but firm and her voice actually sincere when she mentioned how glad she was to finally meet Phil’s cellist.

        Pepper introduced her to Tony Stark, and from that point on her day started to become some kind of surreal artist’s representation of what a funeral for a spy should be a la _Archer_ , because she found herself surrounded by the Avengers, _Phil’s_ Avengers, and as they closed ranks she had the distinct impression her life wasn’t going to be the same.

* * *

        Darcy woke up to a splitting headache, a stomach trying its best to climb its way out of her throat, and a strange bed. One of these things was far more distressing that the others.

        She rolled over and examined the room she was in. The walls were pale grey and hung with tasteful black and white photographs. Through the windows she could see a large bridge leading to an island, but that didn’t make sense, because the only bridges she could think of that looked like that all lead to Manhattan, and she was certain that she went to sleep in Virginia. There was nothing familiar about the room, and she was wondering exactly who kidnapped her when the door opened.

        “Morning.”

        Natasha Romanov was wearing a soft blue t-shirt and matching yoga pants as she stood in the doorway. Darcy had a distinct memory of the woman pouring shots from a bottle covered in unreadable Russian script.

        “Morning,” she replied, trying to think around the pain. At least she didn’t have to run to a bathroom yet, which considering that she didn’t know where the bathroom was would be disastrous.

        Natasha went to the bedside table and set down a tall glass of fizzing liquid and three pills. “Take these. Two will correct the hangover, the last will make you sleep through the worst of it.”

        One thing Darcy Lewis didn’t do was take pills from someone she just met, not since high school and the accidental Ecstasy incident of ’06. She eyed the pills warily. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

        The other woman’s expression went from blank to bemused. “You take them on your own, or I hold you down and feed them to you.” As threats went she’d had them delivered in worse ways, but the sheer cheer the other woman put in those words (as if she meant every word, and would probably see it as a challenge to do it and not get vomit on her clothes) made Darcy reach out and scoop up the pills.

        “The ginger ale is fresh, so it should keep your stomach settled until the pills do their work,” Natasha explained as Darcy complied. “I wouldn’t get out of bed, they can hit pretty hard.”

        “Thanks?” Darcy sipped the drink after the pills were swallowed, mentally coaching her stomach to keep everything down. The pills seemed to dissolve almost before she swallowed, which made her grateful for the soda. Chalky bitterness was the last thing she wanted to deal with alongside a hangover. She set the glass down. “Not to be ungrateful or anything but… where am I?”

        “My apartment.”

        “Your apartment?” That narrowed it down to precisely nowhere. “Where’s-“

        A pale ball of fur chose that moment to jump on her bed, almost in her lap, with a trilling meow and Darcy’s heart leapt to her throat. “Merlin?”

        He butted his head against her chin in answer.

        “He arrived a few days before you did,” the other woman said. “He’s been parked outside your door all night.”

        “How did you… when did…” She found it hard to focus, and Merlin’s fur was really soft. Like pillowy soft, like petting a cloud.

        “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

        Darcy wanted to say something, maybe ask how the hell she ended up in Natasha’s apartment, but she fell asleep to Merlin purring into her stomach.

* * *

        His homecoming was not what he thought it would be.

        Asgard had not changed in his absence, Thor noted. The realm eternal continued on as it did in the long years since his birth. As he walked down the hallway several attendants gave him a wide berth, respectful of his mood. The son of Odin had not been pleased since returning from Midgard, they whispered. Not since returning with the son who was lost to the Void. 

        Selvig’s machine did its work well. He and Loki found themselves at the end of the ruined Bifrost, Heimdall and an escort of soldiers waiting. They were loaded into a carriage and driven through the city. As they approached Thor noticed his brother shrinking into himself, as if every step was a blow on his shoulders. 

        “It will be well, brother,” he said, trying to bring Loki some comfort. Though Loki couldn’t speak his brother never needed words to let others know his thoughts. _Fool,_ his eyes said. _Do not make assurances you cannot keep._

        Once inside the palace proper they were marched to the throne room.

        What followed still had the power to make his hands clench. Their father stood with the full Diar convened. Frigga was at Odin’s side, and it was clear in the tight hold she kept on the arm rests that she was displeased though her face remained impassive. Her eyes went from him to Loki and that impassiveness broke. There were precious few times he could remember their mother crying, but now her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away.

        All were silent as Tyr recounted Loki’s crimes: his bringing three Jotun into Asgard (though this, Frigga would later say, was conjecture only since none of the Jotun survived and Loki did not implicate himself). Bringing Laufey and a contingent of his warriors into Asgard via the bifrost to murder Odin and use this as a pretext to unleash the bifrost on a sovereign realm. Attempting to murder the chosen heir of Asgard during his exile. Declaring war on Midgard knowing it was a realm under Asgard’s sworn protection. During all of it Loki stood silently, his eyes burning not into Tyr, but Odin, his anger so hot Thor could feel it in subtle waves. He was grateful for the fetters Selvig created, for he had no doubt that Loki would have tried to kill them all where he stood. He wanted to shake him, to look in his eyes and make him tell them why he was doing this. _What happened to you, brother,_ Thor thought. _What has turned you into this stranger next to me?_

        When Tyr finally fell silent their father stood. “What say you to these crimes, Loki Odinson?” he asked before striking Gugnir on the tiles.

        The mask fell away to clatter on the floor. Loki worked his jaws before his features twisted into a smile sharp as daggers. “I say I am no true citizen of Asgard, and as such am not bound by the laws of a tottering old fool and his cronies.” His voice dripped venom. “I say I am no Odinson, and that you have no authority over the prince of another realm. I say-“

        “Silence!”

        The mask flew from the floor to Loki, knocking his head back with the force of being replaced. His voice was taken from him, but his eyes were wild with his rage. He struggled against his captors, hands flailing as he tried to step towards their father.

        Odin ignored his youngest’s actions. “Loki Odinson,” he gave the name with finality, as if he would hear no more on the subject. “You have been judged by this tribunal for your crimes and found guilty. You have made enemies that make banishment untenable for any realm that could house you, and are too dangerous to be left to wander Yggdrasil unbound.” He paused, and there was sorrow on his face for the barest of instants before steel replaced it. _Surely he sees. Sees that this pains us, that we wish for it to be different._ “For your actions against Asgard, Jotunheim and Midgard, for your disregard for the lives of your family, your subjects, and your allies I, Odin All-Father sentence you to imprisonment for a time no less than five hundred years.”

        Loki stopped his struggles, eyes wide, surprise sinking into betrayal. He sagged in the arms of the two guards restraining him, muscles lax. Frigga was coming down the dias steps, concerned hands reaching for her youngest as Odin called for a healer. Thor looked to his brother and noticed a slight pull at the corners of his eyes. Loki was smiling.

        Thor didn’t have time to shout a warning.

        With his weight throwing them off balance Loki moved, kicking one guard in the knee hard enough that Thor heard the snap of breaking cartilage, and Arnol let go with a cry. Buil was unprepared for Loki’s full weight and was pulled further off balance. Loki used that moment to take his dagger and slip behind him, arms trapping his head as the knife’s edge pressed against the other man’s throat. Odin was on his feet and the guards that stood in the chamber lowered their spears. Finally Thor found his voice.

        “Loki!” His brother turned to him keeping Buil between them, the dagger drawing a thin line of blood. “Loki,” he repeated, fighting for a calm he did not feel. “This is not the way, brother. Please…”

        Loki answered by pressing harder, and the trickle of blood increased. There was no escape, he had to know that. There was no way for him to fight his way free with a single captive, his magic fettered. The guards moved in closer but Loki did not adjust his stance. He kept himself square with his brother and it was then that Thor realized what was happening. Their father had pronounced imprisonment, a lengthy one to be sure, but one that Loki would see the end of before he was middle aged. A lenient sentence considering his crimes, but not the one his brother wanted. There was only one punishment for killing a fellow Asgardian in cold blood.

        Loki wanted to die.

        Thor’s hand drifted to Mjolnir. “Loki, please…” He hoped he was fast enough. 

        The blast hit Buil in his chest and sent both of them into one of the pillars, the dagger skittering across the floor. Thor turned and saw Odin with Gugnir leveled on his youngest as he stirred. Before Loki could prepare himself he was surrounded by guards.

        “Take him to his cell,” Odin said.

        Halfway to the doors Loki seemed to recover, and the guards had to pick him up bodily to be removed. He was gagged, but he still threw muffled curses that echoed in the chamber long after he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> As a warning, this isn't the saddest chapter of this story. Just thought you should know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This was supposed to be out before Thanksgiving, but that didn't happen. Sorry about the wait and I hope you enjoy :)

        “Am I ever gonna get leave to go home?”

        “Do you want to go home?”

        Darcy frowned at the other woman.“Kinda?” she hedged.

        Natasha looked up from where she was typing. “When that ‘kinda’ becomes a definite ‘yes’, ask me again.” 

        Darcy stretched out on the couch, her new StarkPad playing a movie over NetFlix she was only half paying attention to. It was Saturday, which meant it was generally her lazy day anyway. The difference was that, instead of lying down in her room or playing Wii with her aunt while Diane watched she was trapped on the other side of the country with a hot but definitely insane jailer.

        When Natasha handed her a USB after she woke in the apartment the second time, saying only that it was a message from Phil Darcy’s heart burst with hope as she dug out her laptop. He had to be alive, trapped somewhere on some top secret SHIELD mission and waiting to come home to her. Phil was a spy, who knew what kind of bizarre lines of communication he kept. 

        _“Hello Darcy.”_

        He wasn’t wearing one of his suits. Instead he had on a t-shirt that looked worn at the collar. His eyes were tired, hair slicked with water, and the room was lit by lamps instead of sunlight. It looked like the video was made before he planned to go to sleep.

        _“It is May 1 st, 2012. I started making these after October. If something happened to me I didn’t want you going without a last goodbye._” He paused. _“If you’re seeing this, then I’m dead, or missing in action, or any number of things really.”_ He smiled sadly. _“I know we’re not together right this second, but I wanted you to know I still love you, Darcy Lewis. I had all these convoluted plans that I never had time to implement.”_ He paused, looking away from the screen. _“Those don’t matter anymore. In case something happened to me I asked Natasha to look out for you.”_ She frowned, and Phil held up a hand. _“I know you can take care of yourself, but just humor me. She’ll need something to keep herself busy while she’s not on assignment, and if that means keeping up with you I’ll count it time well spent.”_

        Phil settled further into the chair. “ _We never really talked about us, our future; because I know it freaked you out. But if I had only three words to say to you, they are I love you. We never said it, but I do, and if you’re seeing this it means I always will.”_ He smiled then, softly. “ _Goodbye, Ms. Lewis. Take care of yourself.”_

        Darcy didn’t leave her room for the rest of the day after that. The next morning Natasha had enough of her hiding, because she got Darcy up at the unholy hour of six AM to do yoga.

        Natasha Romanov was okay, as far as jailers went. She cooked, or allowed Darcy to cook whenever she wanted. She got free room and board in a fantastic condo on Long Island, as well as the ability to do as much online shopping for necessities as she wanted. She wasn’t even trapped in the condo; she could wander around and do as much touristy stuff as she could handle without going crazy. It was getting back to Portland that was the problem. 

        Officially, she’d been gone two weeks. Ginger told her to take as much time as she needed, that they weren’t going anywhere. Diane briefly asked when she was coming to get the rest of her stuff, and if she wanted it mailed.

        _“She just wants you to be happy,”_ Ginger told her after their second conversation (because she kinda hung up on her mother after the first) _. “She likes the idea of you out there, living your life.”_ Like always, the _the way she didn’t get a chance to_ hung on the end of the sentence.

        _“Just let me know if you need me back,”_ Darcy said, before Natasha dragged her into the Cloisters.

        The spy (because there was nothing else Natasha could be, not with the way she appeared whenever Darcy so much as _thought_ about going home) was interesting. She was generally warm, funny, and seemed truly concerned about her houseguest, but she also watched Darcy like a hawk. Whether that hawk was looking after her egg or scouting out her dinner Darcy was having trouble figuring out. 

        And then there were the Avengers.

        Tony Stark she knew of, because there wasn’t a person on the planet (literally, National Geographic went to the remotest places they could find with pictures of the man, and everyone, _everyone_ , recognized Tony Stark) who didn’t know Tony Stark, or at least Iron Man. It was a double bonus for her, because through Stark she got to meet Pepper Potts, and no matter what he said she did not drool on the woman. And even if she did it was a reasonable reaction to hanging out with Pepper freaking Potts. She got to spend more time with Big Green aka Bruce Banner, a scientist who was mild mannered enough to set her teeth on edge, and Captain America (who she and Stark called Captain Spangly Pants behind his back, or to his front that one time she’d had a few too many vodka shots). 

        She learned that Bruce Banner hated tea but did enjoy milkshakes, the more ice cream the better. That Clint only drank when Natasha was around, and Natasha drank whenever the hell she felt like it but somehow managed to avoid getting anything but slightly tipsy. She learned that Stark was about as neurotic as a person could get and still be functional, provided functional was defined as working himself to exhaustion trying to fix everything around him including New York. That Captain America hated it when she didn’t call him Steve, and that he enjoyed just walking around the boroughs for hours mapless, explaining how things had changed. Once he found an old Jewish deli that had been there since he was a kid and treated her to sandwiches he swore hadn’t changed in seventy years. She learned that Pepper Potts was every bit as awesome as she always imagined, and that she mourned for Phil in probably the most normal way out of everyone. 

        Despite all of this, there was still a lot she didn’t know about them, these people Phil put his faith in. Clint would regale her with tales of missions that had to be lies, because there was no way he saved the world from mutated chickens with nothing but a banana hammock and a copy of Happy Happy Joy Joy. Stark’s stories she could believe, if only because the internet was a hell of a thing and it seemed all his worst stories had witnesses and accompanying video. Bruce stuck to explaining complex physics theories whenever things started getting personal, and Darcy could respect that. Steve would get wistful and a little defensive of his lack of connection with the present, and since she’d never went to sleep and woke up a few generations removed from everyone around her she could deal with wistful and defensive.

        Natasha, like most women, remained a mystery.

        “So… Phil was your handler?” Darcy asked as she peeked around her StarkPad.

        The other woman’s smile was broad. “Yes, he was.”

        “For how long?”

        Natasha’s expression didn’t change, but there was something that made Darcy think she was weighing her words carefully. “I was brought in to SHIELD in 2003. Once they decided I could be useful they turned me over to him.”

        “Brought in?” Not recruited. “So you were…what… a rogue agent?” Darcy let some of her humor tinge her voice. Her life wasn’t some Tom Clancy-

        “A very good one, actually.”

        Holy shit, her life was a Tom Clancy novel.

        Darcy settled back on the couch, ignoring Merlin’s plaintive meow at her shifting. “So… he just waltzes in, halts the firing squad, and offers you a job?”

        The redhead smiled again, and it was the first honest smile Darcy could recall seeing. Her other smiles were good, very good, but they didn’t light her eyes the way a real smile did. “Something like that.” She closed her laptop. “What about you? Phil said you met in New Mexico.”

        “Yeah. He stole my Ipod.”

        They spent the next hour talking about how she met Phil, and how their relationship went from one night stand to an actual ‘relationship’, complete with bells and whistles. She left out the whole pregnancy thing, mostly because she still felt embarrassed by how she handled it, but also because that was private. Something for just her and Phil. Or just her, she was still getting used to that. 

        “I can’t believe he let you hit him,” Natasha refilled her wine glass.

        “Yeah…well… he’s the one that disappeared.” She blushed, thinking of all the ways she made that up to him.

        “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

        Darcy’s eyes went to the other woman. Natasha was studying her again, eyes intent. “You say that like it’s some strange disease.”

        “For people in our profession, it can be.” She drained her glass and stood. “Come on, I promised Clint we’d meet him downtown.”

        It was another week until Natasha Romanova (Darcy used the proper Russian surname because it made the woman genuinely smile) approached her about coming back to work for SHIELD. Apparently, Jane had been going through their collection of lab techs like a shark through a pool of baby seals and everyone was tired of the slaughter. 

        “HR is willing to double your salary,” Natasha explained while twisting into a yoga pose that shouldn’t have been possible, not for someone with a spine. “So long as they don’t have to pay to send someone else out, then ship them back in a week.”

        Darcy held her downward dog pose as she thought, because she was a person with a spine and not some scary combination of snake and human. Double her salary would be excellent, and it would mean working with Jane again. “Will they pay for moving expenses?”

        Natasha uncurled. “I think the argument can be made for that and a housing allowance.”

        Darcy sat silent, stroking Merlin. Moving back to New Mexico meant dry heat and Jane’s crazy theories. Maybe Dr. Selvig stopping by when she sent out an SOS. “Don’t suppose you can find a way for me to avoid filling out all that paperwork?”

        The redhead’s smile was sharp. “Nothing doing. Avoiding paperwork makes the suits cry.”

* * *

        _One month later._

        Being back in New Mexico wasn’t as painful as Darcy first thought it would be. She stayed with Jane for two days, until everything was finalized for her apartment. It was smaller than her flat in Los Felix, but she wouldn’t move back there even if it was still available. Puente Antiguo had moved up in the world since Thor’s brother trashed the place. The buildings were repaired, and there were even a few new ones scattered around. There were new faces, too, and it turned out that having the Bifrost site so close meant a lot of those new faces belonged to SHIELD personnel.

        The barren spot in the desert Thor first landed at was now a giant complex that she worked at (with Jane) five days a week. It sucked that her boss wasn’t the scientist in charge, mostly because she had to listen to Jane bitch and moan about how Dr. Marquez was a total government tool. Darcy swore the woman was a second away from skipping town and doing her own thing. It was only her ability to play with SHIELD’s toys that kept her at least a little happy. And if Jane managed to work Darcy so much that she didn’t really have time to think of anything but work, it was all for the greater good.

        When Jane woke her up, babbling about dreams and queens Darcy thought maybe, just maybe, Jane was working too hard. God knew her boss was dead set on figuring out how to develop a way to contact Asgard since Thor up and vanished on them again (which she was not bringing up to Jane, not since the seventy-two hour science-a-thon it caused last time). By the time Darcy stumbled over to Jane’s lab (the lab she refused to move onto the facility’s grounds because fuck you, government, _science!_ ) the other woman was on the phone with someone who couldn’t have been happy about being woken up at four in the morning.

        “I’m telling you, it wasn’t just a dream,” Jane said as she motioned Darcy inside. She made a beeline for the coffee machine and miracle of miracles, it was full and fresh. 

        “I understand that-“ Jane stopped, one arm folded under her chest. “Listen, you want to piss off an official diplomatic envoy from Asgard, be my guest, but Frigga said they were coming at roughly noon, our time.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing ‘at your sun’s zenith’ means noon.”

        Jane and whoever she was talking to went back and forth for another ten minutes before the woman finally hung up. “So we’re expecting space Vikings?” Darcy asked as she nosed around a box of day-old donuts.

        “Unless I’m going crazy, yes.” When Darcy just stared at her she sighed. “I am not going crazy, Darcy.”

        “Sure?”

        “Yes!”

        “All right, okay! Jeez…” Darcy took a bite out of a glaze donut. “So… what’s next?”

        

        New Mexico was the last place Bruce Banner ever wanted to return, but it seemed fate wanted him there for one reason or another. He was currently standing in the atrium of a SHIELD facility, the only evidence of his being in a desert the parched, black-etched ground surrounded by sensors and the clear, cloudless sky above. Through the ten inch thick glass surrounding the site he could see teams of scientists working furiously in preparation for Thor’s arrival.

        A downdraft of hot, dry air stirred the dust at Bruce’s feet and started a deep rumble in the back of his mind. Deserts in general made the _Other Guy_ twitchy for a host of reasons he was trying very hard not to think about. It was the reason why he tended towards humid, tropical climes when he was on the run. That and the color green seemed to soothe his violent alter ego. Nine times out of ten when he woke from an incident he was surrounded by some forest, usually near a source of running water. He knocked on the sliding glass door and sighed in relief when it opened without delay. The wash of cool, conditioned air made the Other Guy rumble again, but this time in a settling fashion. 

        When Tony woke him early that morning and informed him they were going on a trip he didn’t know what to expect, and the billionaire wasn’t forthcoming until they were in the air. He assumed it was a trip to the engineer’s Malibu mansion. As much as the other man lauded his tower as Candyland, it was obvious that he preferred the confines of his labs at home. They were in the air for an hour before he threw out that they were heading to New Mexico because of ‘Asgard stuff’ and not to California. 

        Bruce busied himself examining the equipment SHIELD set up around the bifrost site, or B1, as he’d heard it referred to by some of the technicians. The facility was fairly large; three stories of government funding in the desert outside a rebuilt Puente Antiguo. It was plain and fairly nondescript outside, but the inside was state of the art, with a conference room and accommodations designed to impress any visitors. Though from Thor’s description of Asgard he doubted there was anything short of a Saudi palace that would impress an Asgardian.

        Then again, he’d yet to see the onsite accommodations or conference rooms.

        “Everything looks good,” Dr. Foster said, eyes on a computer screen. “Atmospheric ionization is rising. We should have a Bifrost event within the next forty seconds.” She handed a pad over to one of the other scientists and approached him. “Dr. Banner, it’s good to finally meet you in person.”

        “Likewise.” He gestured to the equipment. “I never would have pegged you as working for SHIELD.”

        She flushed at his words, and he felt like kicking himself. “After what happened last year I didn’t have much of a choice, not if I wanted my stuff back.” 

        “I know the feeling.” He switched subjects. “I read your article about interconnected astronomical systems and faster than light travel a few months back. Interesting stuff.”

        Before she could answer one of the lab assistants caught her attention. “Dr. Foster, readings are spiking.”

        He felt it before she headed to the monitors: a change in pressure, in _something_ , that made the Other Guy uncomfortable. It felt like his spine was vibrating. Bruce walked to the clear glass of the atrium, where thick clouds were swirling overhead. He was vaguely aware of Dr. Foster counting down in the background.

        “…two…one…”

        The clouds overhead opened with a pillar of coruscating light that made him turn away in its brightness. The ground shook, the vibration punctuated with fifteen distinct impacts, before it faded, leaving fifteen shapes behind. 

        There were four Asgardians dressed in what had to be ceremonial armor complete with oversized helms, carrying pikes taller than most of the scientists staring at them. At their head stood a man dressed in leathers similar to Loki’s, but in silver and gold instead of black and green. What he thought were ten other people were actually chests, stacked to roughly head height. Bruce felt a spike of disappointment when he realized Thor wasn’t among them.

        The doors to the landing site opened, and a SHIELD agent stepped forward. “I am Agent Patterson, liason from SHIELD and representative of the President of the United States. I bid you welcome to Midgard.”

        The man in leather gave a small nod. “I am Od, voice of Odin, and I thank you for the welcome Son of Patter. Odin All-Father, King of Asgard and Guardian of the Nine Realms sends his deepest condolences for the actions of his youngest son, and offers wergild as recompense.” He gestured to the elaborately decorated chests. “For each life that was taken, a debt is owed. I have been entrusted to seeing it paid.”

        If Patterson was surprised it didn’t show. “Midgard accepts Asgard’s condolences and generosity.” He moved to the side. “We have prepared rooms for your stay in this realm, Od. Please, this way.”

        Bruce wondered how they were going to move ten chests filled with who knew what when one of the soldiers said a word that made his tongue twist in empathy. The ten towers shifted and floated serenely between them, following their leader out the door.

        Tony was practically drooling when they passed, already talking to one of the techs as asking if the managed to scan whatever device was allowing the chests to float. Please, _please_ tell him they were taking readings.

        He turned and saw his disappointment on Dr. Foster’s face. “Guess Thor was too busy to make it.”

        She jerked, as if surprised someone noticed her disappointment, and began fiddling with her tablet. “He’s a prince, right? Can’t make it to every meeting.”

        She was a bad liar. “How’d you know they were coming today? Tony said the communication device was months away from being viable.”

        Jane blushed scarlet to her hairline. “A dream, actually.” The look she gave dared him to be skeptical. Since he just watched four aliens follow a SHIELD agent like a trail of ducklings he was more than willing to believe it wasn’t just luck that got them ready.

        “A dream?”

        “From the queen of Asgard. She said they were sending down a diplomat.”

        “Dr. Banner? Mr. Stark?” One of the suited SHIELD agents stuck his head into the lab area. “The Asgardians are asking to speak with you.”

        Bruce gave Tony a single look as they filed after the agent. This would either be wonderful for intergalactic relations or an intergalactic nightmare.

* * *

        “…we are agreed, then. We shall send two battalions to support Sutur’s in the Valley of Hin. Tyr?”

        Thor listened as Tyr outlined a plan of attack for their forces. In the weeks since returning home it seemed the realms had erupted in chaos. There were skirmishes on hundreds of worlds, outright war between the Mindol and Deonists, and there were reports that the Rhunians were moving into occupied areas of Yggdrasil for their star harvests. For the first time since the war with Jotunheim Asgard was faced with the mobilization of their entire fighting force. The forges were busier than he could ever remember them. 

        “See it is done,” Odin said when Tyr finished after a brief glance at his son. Thor trusted the older general, had learned at his knee the ways of warfare as he had at his father’s, and there was nothing he could add to his plans. 

        The council chamber emptied slowly, until only he and Odin were left. Thor examined the display in front of him: galaxies floated serene among Yggdrasil’s branches. It was not the first time the display was active. It was the first time it showed him the movements of Asgardian troops, the point and counter point of what seemed to be endless war. So far Asgard herself had been spared, and he wondered how long that would remain the case.

        “Is it too late for another to take the throne?” he asked with a weary smile. “Someone with more experience?”

        “Asgard might think ill of a prince who abdicates before being crowned,” his father answered as he moved to stand at his shoulder. 

        “You would hand it to me with this calamity at our doorstep?”

        “I planned to pass the throne to you before, ere you were ready.” Odin touched the display before them delicately and it shifted, revealing the marches of Vanaheim. “You are more prepared now, my son, and know the weight that ruling settles on a king’s shoulders.”

        “Would that I had more seasoning.”

        The display flickered out in front of them.

        “I was younger than you when your grandfather died,” Odin said slowly. “Lost in the midst of a war that dragged on for centuries and was only just beginning to see the first faint glimmers of victory.” His smile was brief. “Every king who ascends to the throne thinks the same, my son. Those who have sense, at any rate.”

        Thor nodded. He wanted to ask his father if his decisions were correct, if his actions were truly for the good of Asgard, but he did not. Odin would not offer assurances as if he were a child looking for much needed approval. That a king had to learn to trust his own instincts was one of his first lessons, and never had he felt the truth of it until he was called to his first war council not as a spectator, but as a general expected to give and receive input. Would that he had Loki at his side instead of rotting in Asgard’s dungeons.

        Odin sighed beside him, his shoulder’s tensing. “Your thoughts turn to Loki.”

        There was no sense denying it. “Strategy and tactics was always his strength, father. Mine lay in execution, not planning.”

        “And you will have to remedy that failing, my son. It seems fate would have you do so sooner rather than later.”

        “That it does.” Thor felt a glimmer of amusement fight through his concern. “ Heimdall said Od arrived on Midgard with the wergild.”

        His father gave him a look of long suffering patience. It was at his insistence, aided by Frigga’s calm logic, which persuaded Odin to send wergild to Midgard to ease some of the suffering of those who lost at Loki’s hands. It was a rare enough thing for Asgard to do, and unheard of for mortal lives. “Od will do his duty and return to Asgard as ordered, Thor. There is no need for your oversight.”

        He nodded in agreement. Od had been his father’s Voice since before Thor was born. He knew his duty and would perform it swiftly and correctly. Thor’s interest in Midgard had little to do with Od or his mission and more to do with his desire to see Jane again. Their few stolen weeks on Midgard where bright and shining in his memory, and he wished nothing more but to return to her. His father all but forbid it, and the unrest throughout the realms made it difficult to think of much beyond battle plans.

        Thor wandered the halls of Gladheim after leaving his father, lost in thought. War was once a dream to him, his father’s tales of valor and triumph his only understanding of it. The battles he fought with Sif and the Warriors Three were nothing in comparison; minor skirmishes often far away from occupied cities. Loki was the first to show him the truth of war. He saw it on the faces of the Midgardians in New York, their blank stares as he helped them leave Manhattan and fought to shore up damaged buildings. Saw it in what remained of Jotunheim as the realm fell further and further into decay. 

        When Thor finally turned his attention to his surroundings he saw he’d wandered into the lowest levels of the palace where the dungeons lay. The air was heavy there with the scent of old stone and metal. It was several months since Loki’s homecoming, months where his brother became more and more a stranger. After the second escape attempt cost one of his guards an arm and a servant her sight their father moved Loki from his quarters to a cell and forbid him from visiting. Thor knew their mother flouted that order whenever she wished, but he did not. It was painful, seeing the man his brother became, even more so since he couldn’t understand why. Something had happened to Loki while he was missing, Thor was certain of it. Something worse than the discovery of his true parentage.

        With a sigh Thor turned and headed to another part of the palace. The doors were heavily inscribed with runes, and he felt the familiar prickling of magic as he passed the threshold, a warning cold that spoke of high magic. When Thor was a child and his uncle Vili died in an engagement with Vanaheim he spent weeks sitting in Bilskimir, watching as he dined with the heroes of old. Vili couldn’t see him, none of those who walked the halls of Valhalla could, and he could not hear their words but it gave him comfort. Loki never liked the hall and refused to come with him, stating it was better to let the dead have their small pleasures in peace. Thor thought that was stupid. Why give the living a means of seeing the dead if not for that very thing? So he spent his late afternoons walking the twisting pathways, hoping that his uncle would somehow know he was there.

        It was Odin who removed him from that strange place one night when he fell asleep there. His father shook him awake and walked him out, but not before taking one long, mournful look at his fallen brother. As far as Thor knew it was the first time he’d entered the hall of the dead and in all the years since he could not recall seeing him there again.

        _“Bilskimir is one of the mysteries, my son,”_ Odin told him after seeing him to bed. _“There to be as a comfort for the living, but also a torment. The dead are just that, Thor. Once they pass into the halls of Valhalla they cannot be recovered until Ragnorak comes again.”_

        When he woke the next day Thor spent hours sitting outside the iron doors, knees tucked to his chest. Loki sat with him for a time before calling him a fool and going to his studies. It was dusk when he finally stood and walked back into the palace proper. From that day forward he never searched for his uncle in the halls of Valhalla. 

        Thor walked down the narrow path, through the heart of Valhalla. He could see the heroes of old as they laughed and fought; though he could not hear the sound of their frivolity. One day the hall would spill forth its dead as it had in times before, and the cycle would break and begin anew. It was a comfort, knowing that those who passed before were not truly gone. He was about to turn back to the palace proper when he saw something that did not belong. A cluster of warriors sat around a table, just like innumerable others he passed before, but that was not what stopped him. 

        It was who sat at the table that gave him pause.

        The Son of Coul no longer wore his suit, Thor noted. Instead he was dressed in Asgardian tunics. He was surrounded by other fallen heroes and seemed to be regaling them with tales of his own battles. He paused as many around him let out silent laughter. The man didn’t seem amused though. There was a sadness that was not present in his fellows, one that spoke to Thor and made his stomach clench. No one should be lonely in the halls of Valhalla. They were to be entertained, fed and watered amongst allies until Ragnorak came and the cycle began again. Now a human sat in the shining halls, brow heavy with remembrance.

        Thor turned and headed to his father’s solar.


	8. Chapter 8

        _You’re not staying here forever,_ Jane thought to herself as she opened another email from Eric. As nice as it was having actual facilities and funding she couldn’t stay under SHIELD, not when it meant sacrificing her scientific integrity. In the last few weeks she made several breakthroughs in the relationship between matter and energy that could possibly make Einstein’s theories on relativity obsolete, but she couldn’t share them. Not even the ones she came to off-site in her showroom-cum-laboratory. SHIELD hoarded her information, and a stack of non-disclosure agreements made sure she couldn’t shuttle the information to anyone else. Jane sighed, wondering for the thousandth time why exactly why she allowed herself to be painted into an ethical corner.

        Jane shook away the thoughts and focused on Eric’s email. Her mentor was supposed to be resting, still recovering from being possessed by Loki. SHIELD medical wouldn’t share anything about his condition so she had to rely on Eric himself, and that’s where the trouble came in. Sometimes his emails were completely cogent; asking her questions about her research, discussing his own research plans for the future. Others were indecipherable collections of words, phrases, and equations. There were times when it almost seemed to make sense, like he was talking to her in another language entirely, but no matter how she tried she couldn’t figure it out. His latest email was painfully normal, discussing his plans on returning to his vacation home in England to get away from SHIELD’s ‘harpies’. 

        Jane picked up her _Asgard or Bust_ mug and filled it with coffee. The mug was one of a pair, an un-birthday present from Darcy. The other she kept in her trailer and only used when she was feeling particularly morose. Darcy actually seemed miffed at that, but Jane wasn’t about to bring a mug that read _The Hammer is His Penis_ (with a picture Mjolnir taking place of the ‘ _I’_ in penis) into any place where others (read: Asgardians) could see it. 

        “Dr. Foster, are you seeing this?”

        Jane looked at the screen and frowned. “That can’t be right.”

        Across the lab Dr Jenner half-stood. “We have a Bifrost event forming. Contact in thirty seconds.”

        Od and the rest of the Asgardians had been on Earth for four days, most of that time spent in closed conference with SHIELD agents and actuaries after being flown to the White House to meet with the Vice President. It appeared they took the whole wergild thing seriously, and wanted every piece of gold accounted for. If you listened to the scuttlebutt among the agents, Od’s exacting nature was driving Patterson and his crew crazy. It seemed Asgardians were more than willing to pay for the damage Loki caused, but not a red cent more than that.

        Jane went to the lab door to one of the waiting SHIELD agents. “You might want to get Od or some of his people in here. It looks like someone else is coming from Asgard.” At least, she hoped it was Asgard, though she was dying to see if the energy readings differed depending on point of origin. Would a Bifrost from Vanaheim have the same energy signature, or would there be subtle differences? 

        The woman didn’t question, just turned and spoke into a radio, relaying Jane’s message in calm tones. 

        “Did they mention someone else coming?” Darcy asked from her corner. 

        “No.”

        “Oh,” Darcy dug through her bag and pulled out her tazer (a new one provided to her by Tony Stark that she claimed could take down a bull elephant) and turned to the lab doors. “Is Odd and his people gonna get here in time?”

        “Od,” Jane corrected.

        “Five seconds.”

        The clouds overhead opened in a shower of light. When it cleared Jane stood there, frozen.

        “Umm… boss lady?” Darcy poked her in the side. “Shouldn’t you open the door for your boyfriend?”

        Jane pressed the release button for the door and Thor stepped through. 

  

        Darcy would never go so far as to say she was jealous of her boss for hitting the holy shit trifecta (hot, blonde, and a goddamned prince), but when he showed up all blonde and hot and princely she felt a tiny, miniscule stab of jealousy. Jealousy that vanished the minute Thor smiled at Jane, because that smile said no one else had a snow cones chance in hell, and you couldn’t be jealous in the face of that.

        Phil used to look at her like that.

        “Jane, it is good to see you well,” Thor said.

        Jane smiled, and giggled, and it was weird seeing the smartest person she’d ever met turn into a fourteen year old girl with her first crush. Darcy took out her phone and snapped a quick picture for future blackmail purposes.“It’s good to see you, too,” the astrophysicist cleared her throat. “Od said you were handling some kind of problem in Asgard.”

        Thor’s expression darkened. “There is much I am attending to, so my visit must be brief.” He looked around the lab, and stopped when he saw her. “Darcy. It is good to see you again.”

        “You too, Big Guy,” she said, slipping her tazer back into her bag. “What brings you to the land of us lowly humans?”

        “A matter which is close to your heart.” He went to her and took her hand. “We must return to Asgard.”

        “Asgard?” Okay, she must have fallen asleep, because there was no way Thor just stepped around _Jane_ to invite her to Asgard.

        “Please, Darcy. We cannot delay.”

        She looked at Jane. “I-“

        “Darcy, it concerns the Son of Coul.”

        Jane wasn’t happy about not going with them, but she made up for it by attaching fifty pounds of sensors to every part of Darcy she could reach in less than ten minutes before giving Darcy a hug and shoving them through to the Bifrost site. “Write down everything when you get a chance,” Jane said, eyes glued on a screen, and yeah, she looked a little pissed at not being the one to travel to another world, but she wouldn’t argue because it was about Phil.

        Darcy barely had time to grab onto Thor before he yelled “Heimdall!” and she was surrounded by light.

        She didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t what happened. She was _moving_ , she knew she was moving, and there was light and color and what she swore were planets flying past, then she stepped onto solid ground and said the only thing she could think.

        “That was awesome!”

        She looked around, and holy hell, she was in a room made out of gold, lots of gold, and a dude with a giant helmet staring at her like he wanted to laugh. She cleared her throat and pretended like she traveled through the universe every day. “Oh, hey.”

        “Welcome to Asgard, Darcy Lewis.”

        “You’re Heimdall, right?” she asked. “Do you sing, because you totally sound like you can do some panty-dropping crooning.”

        She couldn’t see because of the helmet, but she swore his eyebrow was raised.

        “Come, Darcy,” Thor’s hand was on her back. “We have little time.”

        “Wait… I thought you said Phil was here?” Thor and Heimdall shared a look that made her stomach sink. “What?”

        “Odin All-Father has declared that no mortals may set foot in Asgard unless they pass four tests,” Heimdall said gravely. 

        “Oh…” She turned to Thor. “So you’re sneaking me in?”

        Thor blushed, and it was really too adorable. “Yes.”

        “Okay.” She walked to what she thought was the door and stopped dead. She was on an alien planet, and it was very, _very_ apparent.

        Thor told them stories of Asgard: of golden spires, snow capped mountains and star-filled skies. Of the palace that loomed over it all. She couldn’t see the golden spires or snow capped mountains. What she could see was a long, shining bridge that honest to goodness looked like it was made of solid sparkling rainbows. The bridge traveled over blue waters that reflected the sky (and Darcy pulled out her phone and snapped a picture because _holy shit_ ) and lead to a gigantic gate set in an even more gigantic wall that stretched in both directions.

        “Whoa.”

        Sneaking into Asgard wasn’t as hard as she would have thought. The carriage Thor handed her into was every bit as ornate as the room they arrived in. The windows were covered, so she couldn’t see very much of the city, but she could hear it; people talking, vendors calling their wares. There were smells she knew and couldn’t place: the unmistakable scent of roasting meat, sweet smells and flowery smells and a whole host of smells that she placed under _Asgardian_ in her head. It was like a trip to the Ren Faire, if the Ren Faire was who knew how many trillions of miles away from Earth.

        “We will have to move swiftly once we reach the palace,” Thor told her. “Once we reach Bilskimir I doubt there will be others to see you.”

        They arrived at the palace and Darcy had a cloak thrown over her shoulders that hid just about all of her, which she thought yelled ‘intruder’ more than anything else until she saw a group of cloaked people pass a few yards ahead of them in one of the sprawling corridors.

        “They are novices to the healers,” Thor explained. “Those who have yet to become initiates. None will question my escorting one of the younger sisters through the palace.”

        “You grew up here?” Darcy asked, trying to keep her jaw from hitting the floor because damn. Asgard was _big,_ and shiny, and she couldn’t find anything to compare it with on Earth. It was almost too much to take in.

        “It is where I have lived my entire life,” Thor said, leading her down a narrow hallway. 

        Darcy looked at him, and he cocked his head. “What it is?”

        “You’re a prince.” And it was stupid, but it never really sunk in until now. Thor, the dude she tazered, who loved coffee and Poptarts and made her breakfast was a _prince_ who lived in a giant space palace and probably had dozens of servants. “How are you friends with me?”

        Thor smiled at her. “It is easier than you think, Darcy.”

        As they went deeper into the palace there were fewer people, until finally they stopped in front of a pair of giant, carved doors.

        “These doors will take us to Bilskimir,” Thor said. He walked forward, and the doors opened on their own. “The transition may be uncomfortable.”

        Apparently _uncomfortable_ was Asgardian for ‘make you throw up everything you and your ancestors have ever eaten.' Which sucked for whoever had to go through that evil doorway to clean up the spew. Thor looked at her in pity and she heaved again. _Stupid Asgardians and their stupid ipecac doors..._

        “Darcy?”

        She waved a hand in the direction of his voice. “Give me a minute,” she said, which came out closer to “Gvrmin.” Darcy didn’t know how long she kneeled there until she felt like she could stand without throwing up, but she finally managed it. The first thing she noticed was the quiet. As Thor walked her through the palace there was always some kind of noise: footsteps, chatter, and birdsongs. Here there was nothing, and the lack of noise made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Where are we again?”

        Thor looked around, and she followed his gaze, and stared. There were people all around them. People eating, drinking, and laughing, but she couldn’t hear them. Not a single hint of a sound. “Oh, that is so not creepy,” she muttered, voice loud in the oppressive silence.

        “We are in Bilskimir,” Thor said, leading her further into what looked like a never ending hall. “It is a place between Asgard and Valhalla.”

        They were quiet as they walked. Every now and again Thor would stop as if to reorient himself, then turn down some different corridor. According to her watch they wandered for nearly two hours before they finally stopped. It took her a second to see what held Thor’s attention, and when she did Darcy felt her stomach drop to her toes.

        “Phil?”

        He was sitting at one of the long tables, a tankard of something in his hands; listening to the biggest man she’d ever seen. He was wearing a tunic that showed his throat and the top of his chest, and she couldn’t see his pants, but she guessed they were some variation on the kind everyone else wore. As she watched the other man must have reached the end of his tale, because Phil let out a silent laugh as the man spread his hands wide.

        Darcy reached out and her hand was stopped by…nothing. It wasn’t glass, or water, or anything she could put a name to, but brushing against it made her feel queasy and spread golden light. She tried again, hitting her hand against a barrier that didn’t seem to exist, that didn’t echo with her pounding. “Phil!”

        “He cannot hear you, Darcy Lewis,” Thor said gently, one large hand cupping hers. “Bilskimir exists as a bridge between Gladheim and Valhalla, but they are not the same. He can no more see us than we can hear him. None of them can.”

        Thor’s voice was thick with old pain and Darcy glanced at him. “Why is he here?”

        “Your Phillip was felled defending the crown prince of Asgard. That is a rare enough thing. Valhalla is his reward.”

        She turned back to him. He was listening to one of the others speaking. Phil didn’t look like he was being rewarded. He looked sad, like he was remembering something. “This is heaven, right? Shouldn’t he be happy?”

        Thor sighed. “I have spoken with my father. Valhalla was designed to house the souls of Asgardians who died gloriously in battle. The enchantments that hold it are powerful and older than Asgard as you see it today. Perhaps the charms do not work so well on humans as they do on us.”

        “Charms?”

        “Designed to keep those within content until Ragnorak, when they will be called to battle once more.”

        “Seriously?” Thor nodded. “You’re telling me that Asgard’s gonna blow up, Odin’s gonna get killed by a giant wolf, and you’re gonna fight a big ass snake that’s also your nephew?”

        The blonde grimaced. “The language of the myths is imprecise, as are the methods, but Asgard has fallen before. Many times has this realm gone to ruin, and each time we arise from what is left.”

        Darcy rubbed her forehead. “And you all remember this?”

        “Only the king of Asgard knows the truth of Ragnorak.” Thor looked uncomfortable, as if she’d just asked him about his parent’s sexual preferences. “I have held the crown before in lifetimes past, but I am not All-Father in this life. Not yet.”

        She so didn’t have the PhD’s necessary to understand this shit. “I can’t… I don’t…fuck it, whatever.” She had to focus on priorities. “How do we get Phil out?”

        Thor’s mouth set in a grim line. “There is only one who has such power, and she is not like to give up the Son of Coul without proper tribute.”

        “I take it we’re not talking about a really nice spa package.”

        “I do not know what this spa is, but I doubt it.”

        Getting out of Asgard without being seen was almost as easy as getting in. Asgardians were just like humans in that sense. They assumed that because you were there, you belonged there. Darcy wore the cloak of a novice so she was a novice, so long as she didn’t do something like start doing the chicken dance in the middle of a hallway she was just another space Viking going about her business.

        They made a quick stop at Thor’s rooms (which looked bigger than her mom’s house and were just as sparkly and gold as everything else), then continued back to the carriage and on to the observatory. Heimdall was just as scary leaving Asgard as he was coming, standing there in awesome armor daring unseen aliens to try something. He looked like he hadn’t moved since the last time she saw him. Seriously, did the man ever need to pee, or was his armor like a still-suit? She would ask, but he had a big ass sword and she had no doubt he knew how to use it. 

        “I would advise against this, my Prince,” the gatekeeper said as they approached. “The way to Helheim is open, but I cannot force the way if she decides to close it behind you.”

        “Hel would not dare.” Thor sounded so sure, but from the glance the gatekeeper sent his way Darcy wasn’t. 

        “She does not take kindly those that meddle in her affairs.”

        Thor looked like he was seriously considering the other man’s warning. He gave her a look and turned back to the Gatekeeper. Heimdall nodded his head.

        “The trip to Helheim will not be as the one to Asgard,” he warned them, and that’s when Darcy saw that the giant sword he held was some kind of key that turned on the whole Bifrost thing. “Prepare yourselves.”

        

        “Oh…my…God…” Darcy fell to her knees. She did not want to go through that again. It felt like she was swallowed by a sarlacc and then spat up in Antarctica in the middle of winter. Her insides felt uncomfortably hot, her skin so frozen it was stiff and her joints clogged. She tried to get her bearings and found out she couldn’t see anything. _Fuck,_ she couldn’t see… “Thor!”

        “I am here, Darcy.”

        Strong hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her. Strong, _warm_ hands, and she burrowed into him. “I can’t see,” she whispered, because it felt like wherever they were was a place where you didn’t speak too loudly because there were things that hunted by sound.

        “Neither can I.”

        Something chittered to her right and Darcy found out that she could literally climb Thor with little difficulty despite being blind. All that armor provided some nifty handholds, even if he felt like she ripped a fingernail clean off. Thor’s hands went to stop her, and she ended up with one leg over his shoulder, his head pressed into her stomach.

        “It has been long years, Uncle, since you last visited.”

        Dacy blinked, and suddenly there was light. When it didn’t look like the world’s biggest spider was waiting to eat her she climbed down.

        They were standing in some kind of hall made up of dark metal, like someone had turned the saturation down to zero on Asgard. Even the symbols carved into the walls looked backwards. In front of them was a woman; skin too pale, body barely covered by the material around her. Black hair spilled around her and trailed onto the floor. Darcy stopped looking so hard when she saw the hair was moving _by itself,_ writhing like a collection of snakes. Around them there was still darkness, as if they stood in a bubble of light. Light that the woman could apparently give and take away at will.

        Darcy stayed as close to Thor as possible. There were… _..things…_ in the dark that surrounded them. She couldn’t see them, but she felt them watching her. It made her want to take a bath. Hell, it made her want to take _all_ the baths

        “It has,” Thor answered the woman. He appeared calm, which yeah invincible god and all that. Darcy Lewis was trying not to shit herself. “You appear well, Niece.”

        She laughed, and it made Darcy feel like her skin was trying to crawl off her body. “I am as I always am, Uncle. The All-Father made sure of it.”

        Oh, not-so-subtle dig there. This was looking less and less like a good idea. Darcy tugged at Thor’s cape, trying to convey ‘call whoever the fuck and get us out of here’ without speaking. 

        Moving made the creature turn its attention on her.“You have brought a mortal with you into the halls of Helheim.” That laughter was back, and she seriously needed to stop before Darcy became a gibbering mess on the floor. “She is either very brave, or very stupid.”

        “Had arguments both ways,” Darcy said without thinking, because her default when scared shitless was snark for all she was worth until she could find the exit.

        The Goddess (because Thor might be a space Viking, but he didn’t radiate the sense of _other_ that his niece did, and how the hell did that work anyway?) turned her attention on Darcy. “There are few who would speak so freely to me, Midgardian.”

        The things in the dark were closing on them, and if she managed to survive she was going to bankrupt SHIELD with her therapy bills. This was definitely shit humans weren’t meant to see. The Goddess was looking at her like you would a puppy trying to talk, and it pissed her off. “You have something of mine.” She said before her brain caught up to her mouth.

        “Something of yours?”

        “We come to treat on behalf of a mortal allowed into the halls of Valhalla,” Thor clarified.

        “You mean Philip.” When Thor nodded she shrugged. “He has already been given more of a reward than he was worth. “

        “He died saving his planet.” Darcy seethed.

        “Threatening my father,” Hel countered.

        _Father?_ Darcy mouthed to Thor, and he nodded. “Well… your dad was being a dick at the time.”

        Hel threw back her head and laughed, and there was none of the oh-my-God-kill-me-please to it that her chuckles held. There was genuine amusement there, and it threw Darcy. 

        “He would like her, I think. For her brash tongue if nothing else.” The Goddess gave her a look that made Darcy feel like she was being peeled layer by layer with the world’s dullest scalpel.

        Thor stepped in front of her and the sensation eased. “We have come to ask that the man known as Philip Coulson be released from the halls of Valhalla.”

        Hel went from lounging to sitting up straight so fast that Darcy didn’t see the actual movement. “I do not release my charges lightly, Uncle,” her voice was a whip crack in the silence. “Something of equal worth must be offered.”

        Thor reached into a pouch on his belt and took out a small glowing object. It balanced on the tip of his finger before floating serenely towards Hel and stopping halfway between them. Whatever it was the goddess looked impressed.

        “A tear from Nidhogg,” she finally breathed. “Only seven have fallen from the great dragon in this eternity.” She looked like she wanted to reach for it but stopped herself. Hel turned her attention back to them. “A great gift, Uncle. One worthy of the sagas.” With a flick of her wrist the tear, which looked to Darcy like a piece of glittering crystal, came back to him. “But still, one of seven. A soul is a thing unique to the universe. Only one such as Philip exists in all of creation.”

        Thor’s shoulders slumped as he plucked the tear out of the air. 

        “You brought nothing else with which to trade, Uncle?” Her eyes went to his hammer. “Mjolnir would be a fitting tribute.” 

        Darcy stepped forward before Thor could answer, because from the look on his face she could guess it would be something along the lines of ‘Hell no’. “You wouldn’t waste time just pulling our dicks, so there has to be something you want that we _can_ give.” At least, she thought the goddess wouldn’t just jerk them around and send them packing, but who knew what death goddesses did for fun? “Just tell us what it is.”

        

        When doors appear behind him where before there was a continuous sprawl of tables and warriors the feasting hall went quiet, a rare thing in Valhalla. In his time there Phil learned that a new warrior joining them was a thing of celebration, rare now that the realms were at peace, and was treated with the aplomb it deserved. Even the ever present golden wisps that delivered food and mead were still, trays and pitchers floating in midair.

        No one came.

        “Is that normal?” he asked Boulvi. “For the doors to just be there?”

        The red haired warrior (one of the oldest in Valhalla, he’d learned), shook his head. “Not so long, no.”

        A figure appeared on their side of the doorway with a rush of wind; a woman dressed in golden armor. She wasn’t beautiful, more handsome, with thick hair nearly the same color as her armor swept up in an elaborate braid. In one hand she carried a golden spear, and no amount of shine could disguise the fact that the spearhead was razor sharp. A sword was on one hip, a long dagger on the other. Phil squinted, and behind her the image of vast, golden wings shimmered before fading.

        “Skuld,” Boulvi whispered, and the name went through the hall like a wave. Phil knew of one Skuld, a valkyrie from Norse mythology. The woman in front of them certainly looked the part. 

        “I have come for the one called Philip,” the valkyrie said, her voice ringing loud and clear through the hall. “The Son of Coul.”

        There was a subtle shift of bodies away from him. Phil stood, and her amber eyes went to him. “You are summoned, Son of Coul.” She raised her spear and the inky blackness at the doors vibrated, revealing the shadowed shape of the space beyond.

        The hall was silent as he walked towards the oversized doors, the same doors he could remember walking through days... or was it weeks… ago. Time seemed to slip past him since he died, a thing without meaning. How long had he sat talking to Asgardians and drinking mead? 

        At the doors he paused and looked up at Skuld. “Where are we going?”

        The amber eyes revealed nothing. “You have been summoned by she who controls this realm, Son of Coul.” She turned and walked through the doorway.

        Phil glanced back. It seemed like every warrior he’d met crowded the tables behind him, but none came too close. This was something new, he thought. Something that none of them had seen before. He gave them his most reassuring smile. “Bye.”

        The Asgardians didn’t reply, but placed their fists across their chests.

        With a deep sigh Phil followed Skuld into the shadows.

        And into Hel’s throne room. It was the same as he remembered; dark, torch-lit, and uninviting. The absence of smells was jarring. Valhalla was filled with scents; roasting meat and breads, spices, mead, all overlaying a golden scent like autumn. Helheim smelled like old death, the scent that lingered behind old bones once all the flesh was rotted away. The goddess sat on her throne, back straight, hands resting on the arms, the heavy headdress absent. Without it he could see that she was actually beautiful in a cold, still way. The gown wasn’t as sheer as the first, the delicate parts of her anatomy obscured by heavy scrollwork.

        “How like you the shining halls, Son of Coul?” she asked him.

        Phil shrugged. “Not anything I expected.”

        Hel nodded. “You are rare, Philip Coulson. The first human to enter the halls of Valhalla, and the first soul to leave them this turning.”

        He looked back, but the doors were gone. “Am I being kicked out?”

        “Do you wish to remain?”

        The question was sharp, and Phil narrowed his eyes. There was something predatory, triumphant, in the way she watched him. He didn’t want to answer her question without more information. “Why was I brought back here?”

        Hel sat back on her throne with a silent snarl, there and gone so quickly he might have missed the expression if he weren’t looking for it. “Two have come for you, Philip Coulson. They will explain the terms.”

        Suddenly, he wasn’t alone with Hel. It was as if darkness lifted and he saw Thor, resplendent in his armor complete with a winged helmet. He smiled. “Thor.”

        “Son of Coul.”

        Something moved behind the blonde, and the last person he wanted to see here peeked from behind Thor’s cape before stepping around him entirely. Phil felt like someone punched him in the chest. “Darcy… are you… when…” He looked between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

        She didn’t look dead, that’s what he told himself. She looked…alive. Healthy and alive, which made her presence all the more bizarre. She also looked like she was wearing Asgardian clothing; a long sleeved cloak in dark purple that laced tightly in the front. “Hey Phil,” she said, voice full of false bravado. “Hitched a ride with Thor.”

        They walked towards each other, but when he reached for her he couldn’t touch. Something was in the way, something keeping them apart. He settled for running a hand around the shape of her shoulder, the length of her arm. _She’s alive,_ he thought. _She’s alive and you’re dead._ He examined her with his eyes. She looked thinner than he last remembered, and judging from the bags under her eyes she hadn’t been getting enough sleep, but she was still beautiful. And young. Maybe he hadn’t stayed in Valhalla as long as he thought. 

        “The human and Thunderer come to treat for your soul, Philip Coulson,” Hel said in the deep silence. “I have offered terms, and Darcy has agreed to them. All that remains now is your consent.”

        “Agreed?” Phil’s mind worked furiously. “Treat how?”

        “To get you back,” Darcy answered. “Thor brought some rocking artifact, but Miss Perfect Tits over there refused.”

        Miss Perfect Tits? Thor must have felt the same because he whispered her name in warning. “What did you do, Darcy?”

        “She offered your love,” Hel answered, and the goddess sounded entirely too pleased by that. “And I have accepted. But love does not exist alone. Agree to give me your love of her, Philip Coulson, and you may return to Midgard. Refuse, and reenter Valhalla, as is your right.”

        Phil gaped. “Darcy?”

        “She said something precious,” Darcy explained to him, arms folded across her middle. “Something unique in the universe. I thought that covered it.”

        If he wasn’t sure it was impossible Phil would have sworn he was getting a headache. “What do you mean, my love?” Phil asked Hel.

        For all her predatory intent when he first appeared, the goddess looked downright bored at his question. “I mean your love for her, Philip. That fluttering stutter of your heart when she is near, the way the image of her face lightens your mind. Love, Son of Coul.”

        “Just for Darcy?” he clarified, feeling his stomach sink. 

        “And hers for you.” The boredom faded. “Decide Philip. Death’s patience is not infinite.”

        “Darcy-“

        She looked like she wanted to cry. “It’ll be okay,” she rode over him. “You’ll be alive. Anything after that is cake, right?”

        “It is a rare offer,” Thor said solemnly. “Less than a handful have died and returned from death’s embrace. None from Valhalla’s halls.”

        “Phil…please…” Darcy’s hands were bunched into fists under her arms. “It’s just us. You can have everything else back. Cassie, the kids, your _life_ …”

        “Enough!” Hel stood and walked towards them, her robes hissing against the rough stone like snakes. “Decide now, Son of Coul.”

        Phil didn’t take his eyes off Darcy. He would lose her, but get his life back. Alive, they could start again, could make new memories better than the ones Hel planned on taking. “Yes.” 

        Something touched his face and he turned. Hel was in front of him, her eyes deep black and bottomless.

        

        Whatever she expected when Hel agreed to take her love of Phil away, this wasn’t it.

        In the Neverending Story II (which she dared to like more than the original) Bastian didn’t feel when he lost his memories. They weren’t physical things, just spots in his mind that got pulled out without his knowing. What Hel was doing to her was worse than anything she could have imagined. It felt like someone was ripping out parts of her soul. It hurt; it hurt so fucking much she couldn’t scream no matter how hard she tried. She could see her life with Phil; each moment bright and crystalline before dark claws ripped them away, leaving behind dull, grey blankness. She tried to hold on to some, to throw a mental net over them, but whatever Hel was doing was thorough. Every glance, every touch, everything was being taken, replaced by cold and damp. Even worse were the moments where Hel seemed to linger (the night Phil came back from an assignment, the first time they showered together, his singing The Way You Look Tonight to her for her birthday) before stripping it away. She wasn’t just taking the feeling away, she was taking everything.

        _I’m stupid, I’m so stupid, Phil!_

        

        Thor watched Phil and Darcy writhe and felt helpless. He should have left Phil where he was, should have known better than to tempt fate. Mjolnir hummed at his side, his distress making the weapon vibrate. _It was their choice,_ he said as Darcy’s back bowed, as Phil scrambled at the floor. He could do nothing to his niece to stop their pain. Her control of Helheim was absolute, and if she wished she could send him back to Asgard with a thought. Finally, after what seemed an eternity they stilled and lay panting, unconscious, on the floor.

        “Is it done?” He asked.

        Hel’s smile was a dark, twisted thing. “It is, uncle. I suggest you get the Son of Coul to the healers, or this will be all for naught.”

        Thor leaned down. Dark wetness was spreading along Phil’s chest, pumping in time to what he knew was his heart.

        “Heimdall!” He bellowed, placing a hand on Phil’s chest. “We need you now!”

        The last Thor saw of his niece before the Bifrost took him was her seated on her throne, eyes closed and smile beautific.

  

        “What have you done?”

        Thor fought the urge to cringe at his father’s tone. 

        The healers worked furiously around the Son of Coul, the soul forge alight with their magics. An initiate told him that the bleeding was stopped, and now they were working on bolstering his blood and repairing the damage to his brain. Darcy lay still and quiet on her own, the healer’s with her working slower but with no less concern. Hel’s touch had not been a gentle one, leaving behind dark furrows tipped with crimson in both of them.

        “Did you hear me?” Odin asked, his voice even harder the second time. “What have you done?”

        “What I thought was right,” Thor answered slowly. He had not seen his father this furious since his trip to Jotunheim.

        “You have brought mortals into Asgard.”

        “I brought one mortal to Asgard to repay a dept owed, father,” he admitted. “The other was a result of the debt being paid.”

        Odin stared at Philip. “This is the one who entered Valhalla?”

        “Yes.”

        “You would treat with Hel herself for a mortal?”

        “I would pay a debt,” Thor clarified keeping his voice even and calm. “One owed in blood. Philip died saving my life. He met his death on Loki’s blade.”

        It was the wrong thing to say. Odin’s eye went cold, his mouth twisted. “Then it was Loki’s debt to pay, not yours!”

        “One he cannot pay from a cell.” 

        Eir separated herself from her assistants. “The humans will survive,” she informed them both. “The wound the man suffered has healed, but the damage to their minds is more troubling.”

        “What-“

        “It doesn’t matter,” Odin interrupted him. “They are alive, and as whole as they will become on Asgard.”

        He half-turned to his friends. “Then I will accompany them to-“

        “Tyr needs you on the third moon of Nornheim,” his father cut in. “You will go now, and see to our forces.”

        Thor wanted to argue but knew it would do no good. He had already disobeyed his king enough for one day, and Asgard’s needs went beyond those of his heart. “I will go at once,” he said, the words pulled out of him. He turned back to Darcy and Philip. “Please see they are returned safely.”

        Odin gave a small shake of his head. “Go,” he said gruffly. 

* * *

        Late night emergency calls were something the Director of SHIELD had more than a passing familiarity with. He’d long since given up on being able to sleep through the night. He’d found that if he didn’t expect to he got a pleasant surprise when it happened, and only slightly annoyed when it didn’t. Still, it wasn’t every day that he got a call at midnight about one of his agents returning from the grave.

        During the flight in he got to talk to Dr. Foster, who explained about Thor coming and taking Lewis, claiming that it had to do with Coulson. Several hours passed between then and her reappearance, and Fury would set Hill on running down exactly where a vital piece of information like Thor returning got lost in the shuffle. He touched down in New Mexico four hours later, Agent Jenner waiting on the tarmac with an ornately tied scroll addressed to him, handed over from the Asgardian that brought Phil Coulson back from the dead. 

        Fury read the scroll a second time, then a third, before rolling it carefully. “How are they?”

        “Agent Coulson is still comatose, sir,” Agent Jenner said as they walked through the facility. “Lewis is awake, but confused.”

        He frowned as they moved through the New Mexico installation. It was late, just passing 3 AM, and the corridors were empty. “How many people know about this?” he asked.

        “Dr. Foster was in the lab when they returned, along with Dr. Mendez. Aside from them, a small security detail, and the medical staff, no one.”

        “Keep it that way. Are we sure that it’s Agent Coulson?”

        Jenner handed him another file. “He’s a genetic and dental match for Agent Coulson. The scars all coincide with his medical file with the exception of two new scars that match the morgue files.”

        Fury raised the scroll he was given upon arriving. “According to this he was brought back from the dead.” He wouldn’t believe it himself, not until he was able to talk to Phil.

        The medical wing suite was buzzing with people, two of its beds occupied. His heart stuttered when he saw Phil’s profile, not white with death but flushed, his chest rising and falling smoothly. He was dressed in a plain shirt and trousers in what looked like rough homespun. His eyes went to Lewis, who was sitting up in bed though she looked dazed. 

        “Ms. Lewis?”

        She looked up at him, expression slightly vacant. “Director?”

        He took the chair next to the bed and waved away a nurse. “My agents tell me you had something of an adventure.”

        “I feel hungover.” Darcy peaked around him. “Is that Coulson? I thought he died.”

        Fury’s eye twitched. _I do not know the full extent of what was done to them, Man of Fury. It would be best to treat them delicately until the whole of what was done is revealed._ Thor’s explanation was vague in the extreme. “We thought so, too.”

        She frowned at him. “He looks pretty good for a dead guy.”

        “Ms Lewis, what exactly do you remember?”

        She scratched her head.“Ummm… not much. I remember Thor coming back, something about Asgard…” she shrugged. “Then waking up with the vampire squad trying to drain me.” She turned back to Phil. “So, were you like keeping him in cold storage or something? Because that is creepy to the millionth degree.”

        “No.” 

        “Okay,” she drawled before settling back into the bed. “Am I gonna be stuck here forever? Cause Jane looked like she wanted to straight up kidnap me when the doctors said she had to leave.”

        He kept his face blank. “You aren’t concerned about Agent Coulson coming back from the grave?”

        “Is he a vampire?”

        He would have to look into that. “We’re double checking.”

        “Oh. Is it too early for a ‘glad he’s not dead’ party?” She snuggled into the pillows, eyes heavy. “Even if he did steal my Ipod.”

        Fury pursed his lips. “What do you remember about Agent Coulson?”

        Darcy blinked. “That he likes to steal Ipods in the name of keeping government secrets?” She frowned. “What am I supposed to know?”

        _Shit._ “Nothing, Ms. Lewis. We’re keeping you here for the foreseeable future, until we can figure out if there are any lingering effects from your trip.”

        She was halfway asleep before he finished speaking.

        He sighed internally and stood. Dr. Avila was waiting for him at the other end of the infirmary. “I want a full workup on both of them. CT, MRI, every brain scan we have.”

        “Already scheduled,” Avila answered. “We’ve been waiting for authorization to transfer him to White Sands.” 

        He nodded to Phil. “What can you tell me so far?”

        She looked at the pad in her arms. “We believe that it is Agent Coulson. Everything we have on file matches, down to the birthmark on his left ankle. The scars on his chest appear to be from the wound that killed him, though they show a significant amount of healing. An MRI will verify if those are only cosmetic. He is comatose, unresponsive to stimuli, but breathing without assistance.”

        “Will he come out of it?”

        “It’s too soon to tell at this stage. He may wake up tonight, tomorrow, next week, or never. The sooner we can run the proper tests the sooner we can determine if there’s any brain damage.”

        Fury nodded. “Get him to White Sands ASAP. As of this moment Coulson’s return is Level 7.”

        Avila just nodded. “I’ll call in the airlift.”

        Fury took one last look at Phil. Over the years he’d given up on hoping; it was a waste of time and energy. Phil Coulson lying there, comatose but alive, was a miracle he’d never imagined experiencing. Would Phil be the same man he remembered when he woke, or would he be different? How would death and rebirth affect him? There were too many variables, too many unknowns. He kept circling back to Thor’s letter and Lewis’ response to his question.

        _What am I supposed to know?_

        Thor said Hel took their love for each other. Lewis certainly didn’t seem concerned to see her former lover alive and well after over a month of being legally dead. He didn’t doubt that she’d loved him; the girl wasn’t that good an actress. Would Coulson wake up with the same kind of hole in his memory? He’d been the happiest Fury could remember seeing him in years when he was with Lewis. Would he wake up the Coulson from before Lewis, or would some of her influence linger?

        He gripped the letter tighter and headed to Foster’s lab. He needed someone to speak to about this, and she was the only one on site who would share his concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know this part isn't necessarily movieverse canon, but I am taking liberties with it and mixing in some Marvel and mythology. Asgardians are still aliens, but they do go through Ragnorak (because handwavy reasons). Hel is Loki's daughter in both and rules Helheim, the land of the dead. I am using the version of Hel from New Ultimates.  
> Helheim isn't strictly speaking in the universe, but is another dimension set aside for Asgardian spirits, and Valhalla is a part of that. Bilskimir is a dimensional bridge between the two
> 
> Valkyries take the spirits of the dead from the battlefield and take them to Valhalla.
> 
> The sarlacc is borrowed from Star Wars and is a creature that lives on Tantooine and takes a thousand years to digest its food.
> 
> Ipecac (syrup of ipecac) is used to induce vomiting. It is very good at its job.
> 
> I don't believe that any single people could rule the entire universe, so instead I have Asgardians 'ruling' our galaxy (which, come on, would still be damn impressive). The nine 'realms' refer to the nine regions of our particular galaxy, which is they call the World's Tree. I know the representations in the movie make it look like a tree and not a spiral, but Asgardians have a better understanding of it, so their representation is much more accurate.  
> There are 200 billion stars on our galaxy alone, and if even a tenth of those had planets and a tenth of those had life, and a hundredth of that had intelligent life there could be 20 million civilizations running around our neighborhood. Heimdall says he can see ten trillion souls from the observatory, which in light of that is a little low for a supposedly universe spanning empire. It also explains why Heimdall couldn't see Loki, if he managed to get flung out of the Milky Way at the end of Thor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I can't believe it's been a year since I first wrote Open Wide and Touch the Sky. Thanks everyone for sticking around and I hope you enjoy the end.

        “This is bullshit.”

        Natasha went through another box, carefully separating everything that appeared to be more Darcy Lewis than Phil Coulson. 

        “I said-”

        “It’s bullshit,” she finished, removing one ticket from a pair from the New Mexico State Fair and putting it in her Darcy Lewis pile. “I heard you.”

        What little remained of Coulson’s things after his funeral were put into storage in SHIELD’s archives. Four boxes contained possessions from the helicarrier and his apartment in New York. There wasn’t much once they got through the photo albums, but there was enough. Lewis’ presence in Phil’s life wasn’t ostentatious, but it was very much _there:_ novelty mugs, knickknacks, the occasional letter written in her flowing cursive.

        Clint growled something under his breath.

        Natasha repacked the box, careful of its contents. When the director recalled her from London she hadn’t thought much of it. Not until she walked into his office and was handed a folder that told her something she knew to be impossible.

        “Are they even sure he doesn’t remember?” Clint asked, crouched behind another box. 

        “Fury’s sure.” She marked the box examined and moved to the one Clint just finished going through. He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. “Whatever happened to him, this is damage control, Clint. Plain and simple.”

        “It’s still bullshit.”

        She wouldn’t argue with him. It was bullshit, complete and utter bullshit, but they had their orders. Phil’s possessions were to be scrubbed of anything pertaining to Darcy Lewis and their relationship. Why was something Fury didn’t elaborate on, and a reason wasn’t present in the folder she’d been given. The report was confusing but thorough. Neither Phil nor Darcy were able to say exactly what happened after she was taken to Asgard. The one solid fact they had was that Darcy left with Thor and was returned with a comatose Phil, one that didn’t appear to be a clone. Neither of them had much memory of the other beyond their initial meeting during the New Mexico incident. The time wasn’t missing, it was simply…edited. Carefully edited so that the places they should have occupied were empty. 

        She’d sat silent in Fury’s office as she read, and then reread the file. At first glance there didn’t seem much for her to do, and she thought her being told was a courtesy: the Director being kind enough to let her know that her handler, that a _friend,_ wasn’t lost like so many others. Then he hit with the reason he pulled her from London. Fury wanted Phil’s possessions cleared, and since she had knowledge of both Phil and Lewis she was ideal to go through what they had and make sure no part of Jane Foster’s assistant remained. Her assignment came with a warning that they weren’t to bring up Lewis to Coulson once he was released from medical observation. 

        Ever.

        Clint pushed the last box across the floor to her. “Are we sure it’s Coulson?”

        “You sound paranoid.”

        “Some people are paranoid for a reason,” Clint countered, idly flipping a blade between his hands. “Have you seen him?”

        “No.” Agent Coulson was at White Sands, safely under wraps while SHIELD ran him through every test known to mankind. She had seen video of him, though. It looked like Phil, it sounded like him, but she knew emotion could cloud a person’s judgment until they didn’t know which way was up. “Technically Phil’s still dead, at least until Fury can figure out what to do with him.”

        Clint twirled his knife on his palm. “Like the Director could keep Coulson from working. But the cloak and dagger with his stuff…” he trailed off, eyes dark.

        Natasha sighed. “I’m sure Fury wouldn’t go through this much trouble if he didn’t have to.” She checked off the last box and loaded it onto a pallet with the others. She turned back to Clint to see he was still sitting, staring at nothing.

        “Hey?” When he didn’t respond she set a light hand on his shoulder. “Clint?”

        “Yeah?” He stood rapidly, but not fast enough to hide his flinch. When she started pulling the pallet Clint slid between her and the handle and took over. 

        “He’s gonna be pissed about his apartment,” he mused as he pulled.

        Natasha shook her head. “He’s gonna be pissed about his cards.”

        

        “Jane… Jane!”

        Darcy grabbed a file folder out of Jane’s hands. It looked like a whirlwind had gone through the room. Files were scattered around the small office they had on the facilities grounds, others stuffed into plastic crates. Half the filing cabinets were open as far as they could go.

        “I quit an hour ago,” Jane told her. “We’re going.”

        Darcy blinked. “I thought… you were joking…”

        “I told you, we’re going,” Jane said, taking back the file and throwing it into an open crate. 

        Darcy moaned when its contents spilled out and mixed with others that had fallen free. “I’m so not refilling that,” she warned. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘we’re going’? Last week you said a drunk monkey could do my job.”

        “Because you got drunk and redid the entire filing system! The techs are still trying to get it straight.”

        She shrugged. “In my defense I was bored… and a little drunk.” She was also depressed for some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, but she wasn’t about to tell Jane that. Her boss had a tendency to go all maternal on her, which was weird, since Jane was only eight years older than her. “Besides, it was supposed to make everything easier to catalogue.”

        Jane made a noise somewhere between ‘angry grunt’ and ‘scream of rage incarnate’. 

        It wasn’t like the file system was a complete loss, and she’d relearned a valuable lesson about programming while three sheets to the wind. “So…” Darcy drawled, picking at her raspberry Danish. “Why are you packing like the world’s ending and you’re trying to stay ahead of the tidal wave?”

        Her boss looked at her, and it was one of _those_ looks; the ones that Jane started giving her after the whole ‘I went to Asgard and all I got was this stupid amnesia’ adventure. “Because I’m tired of working for SHIELD and dealing with their insistence that my research, my life’s work, is somehow a matter of national security and therefore can’t be shared with _anyone_.”

        “You signed the contracts.”

        “Yes, I signed the contracts. So did you.” Jane looked through a file mournfully before throwing it into another crate, this one filled more than the other. “And I should have known better.”

        “Meaning I didn’t?” Darcy peeked into the emptier crate. “You know you’re not just gonna walk out towing all this stuff right?”

        Jane glared at her and Darcy raised her hands in mock surrender before putting down her Danish and starting on the less classified things, like her collection of office buddies and mugs. 

        She saw this coming ever since the white coats let her out of the infirmary. She didn’t know that many medical tests existed, or could all be used on an individual without them going batshit insane or running out of blood. Ever since Jane became more and more tightly wound, which was frightening considering how high strung she was generally. Darcy would have suggested a long vacation somewhere with palm trees and no internet access, but it looked like Jane had gone from needing a vacation to burning the whole thing down and dancing around the ashes.

        She stuffed her favorite office mug into her bag. “Did they remember that you put all those sensors on me before the whole Asgard thing?”

        Jane’s eyes went round, and she ran to a filing cabinet, pulled out her homemade equipment and tossed it into the crate.

        “You’re welcome,” Darcy muttered.

        Jane stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, I know I’ve been…”

        “Crabby?” Darcy filled in. “Bitchy? Completely-“

        “I’m sorry,” Jane rode over her. “It’s just… the whole Asgard thing… and Erick…and…” she trailed off and gave Darcy one of those looks.

        “What?” she looked down at herself. “Is there a spider on me or something?”

        “No.” Jane shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, if you want to stay with SHEILD I can’t force you to come with me.”

        Darcy rolled her eyes. “Like you could get rid of me with a few insults.” She turned on the computer. “Hey, did I ever tell you I set up a hidden volume on our partition with all the stuff you didn’t want to tell SHIELD?”

* * *

_One year later_

        Phil woke to strong, sure fingers kneading the muscles of his upper back. Waves crashed in the background, and the breeze carried the scent of salt up the beach to his small covered cabana. 

        “Are you all right?” The masseuse asked, easing the pressure of her hands until they were just gliding over his skin.

        He hummed and settled further into his pillow. “I must have fallen asleep.”

        “It happens,” she reassured him. “You’re very relaxed.”

        There was a time when he would have said it was impossible for him to fall asleep out in the open with someone he barely knew not only close, but actively touching him. Maybe he needed this enforced vacation more than he thought. Not that he would ever admit that to Nick, the man didn’t need to know he was right about everything.

        The hands slipped down his arm and Phil blinked at them. They weren’t the short, dark fingers of his masseuse. Instead they were thin, pale and long boned. Phil turned over on the massage table.

        The woman leaning over him wasn’t Shelly. She was roughly the same height, but her skin was pale, with dark hair curling over her shoulders in waves. She smiled down at him, a smile so full of love it was painful. A smile that didn’t match her tear-filled blue eyes.

        “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching up to cup her face with one hand.

        “It’s where we are,” she told him as she looked at their surroundings.

        Phil followed her gaze. There wasn’t anything distressing. Blue water, white sands, palm trees waving in the salty breeze. It was paradise by anyone’s definition. “Tahiti?” 

        She shrugged, slender hand holding his to her face, and leaned down until her lips hovered just over his. “It’s a magical place.”

  

        Coulson woke covered in sweat.


	10. Playlist

Hi everyone!

This story arc was called Fucked Up Love Songs for a reason, and this is it. When I started writing each chapter was supposed to have a particular song, but I never got around to naming the chapters properly. So, if anyone was wondering, here is a list of the songs and what chapters they accompany.

Dirty Little Secret – All American Rejects (Two Can Keep a Secret if One of Them Is Dead)  
Glory Box – Portishead (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 1)  
One For My Baby – Billie Holiday (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 2)  
If You Could Only See – Tonic (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 3)  
Space Lion – The Seatbelts (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 4)  
1,2,3 Red Light - 1910 Fruitgum Company (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 4)  
Home – Michael Buble (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 5)  
Never There – Cake (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 5)  
Sympathetic Character – Alanis Morrisette (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 6)  
You Look So Fine – Garbage (Drink It Down, This Bittersweet Wine Chapter 6)  
Siren – Tori Amos (All the Words of Mice and Men Chapter 1)  
Elsewhere – Sarah MacLachlan (All the Words of Mice and Men Chapter 3)  
Don’t – Jewel (All the Words of Mice and Men Chapter 3)  
Running Up That Hill – Placebo (All the Words of Mice and Men Chapter 3)  
With or Without You – U2 (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 1)  
Save Tonight – Eagle Eye Cherry (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 1)  
Love Ridden – Fiona Apple (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 2)  
Sideways – Citizen Cope (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 2)  
Pictures of You – Cure (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 2)  
Another Sad Love Song – Toni Braxton (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 3)  
What if This Storm Ends – Snow Patrol (We’re All Ostriches Chapter 3)  
Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinead O’Connor (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 1)  
Who Wants To Live Forever – Seal (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 2)  
Potions – Puscifer (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 4)  
Blinding – Florence + The Machine (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 5)  
Carry – Tori Amos (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 6)  
Tears in Heaven – Eric Clapton (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 8)  
Everything You want – Vertical Horizon (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 9)  
Fractured – Zeromancer (Because I Could Not Stop for Death Chapter 9)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The title is from the Emily Dickinson poem "Because I Could Not Stop For Death".


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